Matters of the Bloodline
by raffinit
Summary: AU The Lord-King faces the decision to please the council and to face his emotions that threatens to put his most trusted and beloved confidant in danger.
1. Matters I

**Alternate Universe: Aêron Thunderfrost, Lord-King of the Five Realms faces the danger of destruction and betrayal after his wedding to Emilynne Fairschilde. Both keep dark and mysterious pasts, that seem to be rising against them now in a time of change and rebellion.**

* * *

There were many things a ruling king was responsible for. He had to sit on a throne, rule a kingdom; make decisions for his people that he deemed fair and just. He was an image to fear and revere; a figure of authority and regality that he would carry every waking and sleeping moment of his life. For the Lord-King Aêron Thunderfrost of the Five Realms, he carried these duties, and he carried them well for many years. Almost twenty years, the Lord-King had taken the throne from the Tyrant, and long had the people of his kingdom lived in peace.

Born to his name, the Lord-King had two children; two heirs to the bloodline and the throne. His firstborn, the Heir-Queen Arwen was a beautiful young girl, a spitting image of her father; dark hazel eyes and a quiet, almost brooding countenance at only seven. One would gaze upon the young Heir-Queen's face and find it difficult to see traces of her mother inside her, and perhaps it was a good thing – no one could doubt that the former Queen had been faithful.

His second born; the lastborn to Lord-King Aêron's name, was Crown Prince Jackesyn – the First Son and One Heir to the throne. Though the four year old boy bore such a prestigious title to his name, young Jack was second to the throne, as accordance to the order of his birth. It was only because of his mother's side that he had been given such a blessed title – Queen Haley had always wanted a boy more than anything. It would – and had for a brief time – cement her place by the Lord-King's side.

At least, until the Queen's death at the hands of the Lord-King's malicious and wicked cousin. Stead of plunging the metaphorical knife into Aêron's back – George had plunged the knife into his cousin's chest nine times, and left him to watch his wife die from a slit throat. It was only by the swift actions of his children's tutor that saved the Lord-King.

Now, the tutor was currently the topic of conversation of the Lord-King and his Chancellor. They sat in his royal chambers, a room separated from the council and his bed – a place he often went to sit in peace and quiet and consider things when the voices grew too loud around him. The Lord-King Aêron was dressed in his deep navy blue high collared, full sleeved shirt and breeches; the royal crest of a crowned panther with its accompanying eagle in the background emblazoned upon the left side of his chest.

The King huffed as he leaned back against his high-backed chair, his circlet crown resting at the ridge of his brow; the iron and gold adorned in tasteful but glittering jewels. Rarely did the King ever don the Royal Crown, lest he were to entertain foreign governors. Presently the Lord-King was watching his Chancellor pace the room, frowning in annoyance at the repetitive gait. Aêron huffed impatiently again as he threw down his feather pen and glared at the bearded man.

"Your constant circling is making me dizzy, Rossetti," he growled, and the Lord-King's fingertips found their way over his temple. The throbbing was dull for the moment, but judging by the way Chancellor Davyd Rossetti was still grumbling at him about this matter, the migraine would only intensify. Finally the Lord-King grew impatient, and snapped at the older man. "By the Fallen Gods, Rossetti, _sit down _before you make your king cross-eyed and short in the head!"

Chancellor Rossetti glared at the Lord-King mildly, but huffily obeyed as he took his seat yet again by the King's side. "Your Grace," he uttered slowly, weightily; his dark eyes probing at the Lord-King's irritable face. "We've been weaving circles around this topic for much too long. You know the Councilmen insist the presence of a Queen by your side -," he watched Aêron scowl at the reminder. "And another heir to the throne -," he nearly smiled out of the corner of his mouth when the Lord-King scowled harder.

"Why do you keep fighting the inevitable, Aêron? I'm trying to help ease this situation for you!"

"There is nothing to ease, Chancellor," the Lord-King's low voice rumbled in exasperation. "I have no intentions of remarrying, nor producing more heirs – I love my children as they are; two is enough." The Fallen Gods help him if he had to sit through courting women again and laying with her on their wedding night. It had been a two years since the death of the Queen, and never once had the Lord-King given remarriage a thought.

He waved the Italian man's frown aside. "I am much too old to be courting potential consorts anymore, Chancellor – it's such a tedious thing and I have much else to worry about." Aêron huffed at the thought, mouth curling into a scowl at his royal obligations.

"Exactly!" the Chancellor exclaimed, and he rose from his seat with a noisy scrape of his chair against the floor. Rossetti managed a swift apology when Aêron's eyes widened indignantly at him, but the Italian Chancellor persisted. "Why worry about courting new, unknown women when the perfect bride is under your nose right this moment?"

The Lord-King sputtered incredulously. "I can't marry the children's tutor! She would never condone it!"

Ah, the children's tutor - the woman who had once saved the Lord-King's life, and seemed to be in the process of doing so yet again. And pray, who was this wondrous woman of light and splendor, and all things amazing?

That would be Lady Emilynne Fairschilde; Highest of Blood and tutor to the Royal Children.

Born of the oldest House of the realm, Lady Emily, as she preferred to be known, was the only child and last surviving member of her family. The Prentisses were the oldest family of the realm; born of noble blood and regality that sometimes could upstage the Lord-King's. But alas, the remainder of the bloodline was gone, and Emily had sought sanctuary in Aêron's kingdom after coming home to a mansion set ablaze.

With skin white as snow, lips red as blood and hair dark as ebony, Lady Emily was commonly and affectionately known by the people as the fabled 'Snow White'. The name was only ever used in whispers of course; the Lady never hesitated to chide them for spinning such worshipping titles for her. She was a fiery soul; sharp witted and bright-eyed – the perfect tutor for the royal children, and…

…The perfect bride for the Lord-King.

If only the King would see what was so clearly laid out in front of him.

"You know she would sooner kill me in my sleep than lay with me," the Lord-King drawled wryly, and Rossetti chortled at the long-suffering, indulgent look on Aêron's face. The camaraderie between the Lord-King and his loyal servant had long been fodder for the castle gossip; the pair bickered and bantered like a couple long married, and oftentimes it seemed that Lady Emily was _already _the Queen Consort. She ruled over the King as if she was already his bed-mate and counsel.

Rossetti grinned. "Who's to say that she wouldn't lay with you _and then _kill you in your sleep? At least then you could die a happy and immensely satisfied man, Aêron." He chuckled right in the Lord-King's face when Aêron's face hardened into a thunderous scowl. It really was very entertaining to rile the King up – he saw now, why the Lady did so as often as she did.

"Come now, Good King," he cajoled, ever skilled with his words and persuasion. It was his profession, after all. "Can you truly look upon my face and tell me that the idea of being wed to Lady Emily does not please you in the slightest?"

The Lord-King frowned, glaring at his Chancellor as his dark eyes seemed torn between admitting his attraction to his children's tutor and damning the idea altogether. Emily was a beautiful woman, without a doubt – with skin so soft and supple and paler than the moonlight and lashes so thick and dark. Any man would be lucky to have her grace his side, and Aêron couldn't help but feel a surge of desire and pride at the idea of having her sit by his side, the Queen Consort's crown adorning her thick, lustrous black hair.

She would make a beautiful Queen. But not only was the Lady Emily beautiful, oh no, she was going to be a fiery Queen; full of life and flame and passion – so sharp was her mind that even the King had trouble fighting back at times.

Yes, yes, she would be a perfect Queen.

It was then the Lord-King was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his giant oak doors opening, and the King stood from his seat at the sound of familiar strides filling the space. His gaze immediately darted to the woman approaching him, and Aêron couldn't help the hitch in his breath when he saw the embroidered corset dress that the beautiful woman wore. It was deep azure, not unlike his own navy, with lace and silk pulling the front together and lining the generous V-neck of her dress.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and inclined his head in a short bow. There in front of him, was the very woman Rossetti was pestering him about.

"My Lady," the Lord-King greeted her, voice a low timbre.

Lady Emilynne Prentiss-Fairschilde nodded her head to the King, curtsying ever so slightly before she smiled beatifically at Chancellor Rossetti. "Your Majesty," she began, turning back to face Aêron with a gleam in her dark eyes. Though her red lips were pulled into a sweet smile, the fire in her eyes was unmistakable – he'd forgotten something. Behind her stood two of the escorts he'd assigned for her since the attack of the late Queen; the gangly magister's apprentice she favored and the Head of his royal Guard.

She insisted that the guards were excessive, but the Lord-King had insisted that if she was to be around his children at all times, it was imperative that he had people around them that he trusted.

Presently the two men were standing a respectable distance from the Lady and the Lord-King, but were watching with an almost expectant amusement. Lady Emily spoke again, teeth bare in a feral smile. "I hope you'll forgive the intrusion, Good King, but I'm afraid you seem to have forgotten a particular _appointment_," she drawled the word slowly, pointedly at the confused man. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe it involves horses, a picnic and a certain pair of royal children."

She arched a brow expectantly at the King, nodding her head in approval when she saw the realization fill his hazel eyes. "Very good, Your Majesty." The mock-derision in her tone would've granted anyone else a withering glare, but the man had simply whirled to Rossetti with a hurried dismissal. Lady Emily unraveled the half-cape she held in her hands, shaking out the garment and draping it over the Lord-King's shoulders.

"We'll talk about this later; I have to attend to my children," Aêron told Rossetti, and the Italian man nodded obediently, smirking to himself as he watched Lady Emily spin the Lord-King about to fasten the cape around his neck for him. He couldn't help the quiet chuckle that came when the Lady smacked the Lord-King's hands aside when he tried to help. All the while, the dark-haired pair whispered to each other heatedly under their breaths.

Yes, yes. They would talk about the matter later.

The Lord-King would need time to propose to his bride, after all.

* * *

Loud, purposeful strides filled the castle hallways as the Lord-King strode down them with rushed, hard strides. His long black boots were accompanied by the quick, fluid motions of the Lady's own riding boots; the ones he knew she wore under her dress as they were escorted down to the grounds. From beside him, Lady Emily was keeping pace almost effortlessly with the Lord-King, but there was a particularly strong surge of power beneath her strides.

He rolled his eyes internally. "Will you be sulking like this for the rest of the afternoon?" he asked her drolly, the words coming from a bare movement of his lips. Aêron smirked though when Emily hurled a sharp glare in his direction. "It's going to be a long afternoon if you are, and Arwen wouldn't appreciate us bickering while we choose her birthday gift."

Emily scowled from beside him, sorely tempted to stomp upon the Lord-King's foot – or to perhaps elbow him in the gut. "You were supposed to finish a half hour ago," she reminded him tartly, stepping into his space and shoving the Lord-King none-too-politely in the direction they needed to be before marching down the hall again. "Arwen was so sure you were going to cancel today's plans." She glanced at the King sharply again.

Aêron sighed guiltily, boots tromping noisily against the loose gravel of the ground's walkway as they moved down to where he could see his children waiting with their nanny and their ponies. "I know I promised her I would take her today, and I am keeping to my word," he told Emily, keeping his voice as calm and level as he could – Emily had a knack for wheedling out the burdens he carried, and he hated burdening _her _with the worries of a King.

He huffed as he took the riding cape proffered by the scrawny Magister, holding it open for the Lady as he slid it onto her shoulders for her and snapped the fastening for her. "It was Rossetti – the man is very much a bloodhound when on a scent; or better yet, a toothy little lapdog on the scent of a piece of meat."

Unable to help himself, the Lord-King smiled when Lady Emily chuffed in amusement, rolling her eyes at him as she turned to him just before they reached the children. He paused in his step beside her, peering curiously at her face as she stared up into his just as intently. "Where are Jennifer and Penelope? I had told them not to leave you unaccompanied when without the children."

He had specifically ordered her ladies-in-waiting to keep her within view at all times – and yet he could only see her escorts with them now. No doubt the Lady had ordered them to stay put somewhere. The library, perhaps; she did so enjoy the library.

"I would rather not move within the castle grounds with a party of four at my heels," Emily quipped, shaking her head at the Lord-King when he gave her a perplexed frown. "The King does not wander his corridors or walk the grounds with his entire army at his heel, and so why should I?"

Aêron frowned at her still, but Emily remained stubbornly defiant. "For your safety," he reminded her with a quiet firmness. It never failed to frustrate the King to know that his children's tutor and one of his most cherished counselors refused to consider proper security for her life. Did she not worry of her parents' murderer coming for her?

The Lady remained unconvinced. "I am no frail maiden, Good King. What danger waits for me in these castle walls but perhaps I should trip upon my own feet and twist an ankle?"

"Emily," he chided her, but Emily had stopped very abruptly, and had begun to stare at his face with a frightening intensity. "Emily…?"

"Something bothers you," she said, and her thickly lashed eyes roved his handsome features in a search for the source of the pinched ridge of his brow – as if she could somehow read his worries on the lines of his face. Tentatively she reached out to him, touch the bare skin of his wrist with a whisper of her fingertips as the Lord-King darted his eyes away. Yet again, from a distance, her escorts did their best to remain oblivious to this common show of affection, and Emily tugged at Aêron's hand insistently.

"Tell me what troubles my King," she urged him gently, but the Lord-King began to shake his head stubbornly. She tilted her head at him, squeezing his wrist slightly as she arched a brow with a teasing smirk on her lips. "Come now – I cannot have you brooding and sulking all afternoon, Your Majesty. It's going to be a long afternoon if you are, and Arwen wouldn't appreciate your little storm cloud brewing overhead," she mocked him, grinning when the Lord-King's head shot up to glare at her mildly.

Aêron huffed at her, giving her a low, chiding look that the Lady merely fluttered her lashes at. "By the Gods, you infuriate me so," he breathed, and then squeezed his eyes shut tight before speaking again. Control yourself, man – she wasn't his wife and Queen yet, if she was going to be. "Fine!" he cried, catching himself at the last moment when Emily's pretty face stared up at him with flat amusement. Heat rose from his neck up to his ears as he saw curious heads turn in their direction, and the Lord-King cleared his throat awkwardly before beginning again, calmly this time.

"If the Lady wishes it so, I shall tell her what troubles me," he conceded, and then jerked his head to where he could hear his son call to him. "But _after _we pick Arwen's horse -," he held up a hand when Emily began to protest, smirking in amusement at the petulant glare she shot him. "I believe we've kept the children waiting for much too long already, haven't we?"

He held out his arm to her and, casting another grin at the huffing woman, led her to his children once she'd taken hold of his arm. "You know, with a pout like that on your face, it would be a miracle if we don't walk away from the breeder with Arwen's horse – and his entire herd – for free."

The escorts behind them couldn't help but snort under their breaths when there came a loud thud, and the Lord-King faltered in his step, swearing under his breath. The snort turned into chortling when the King straightened again, and began to limp painfully down to the children, Emily prim and composed by his side. They didn't need to see her face to know that the Lady wore a smug look of triumph on her pretty face.

"You will be the death of me, woman," Aêron growled at her, but Lady Emily merely tightened her hold on his arm and beamed at his fast approaching children.

"But you would have no one to blame but yourself, my King," she purred at him coyly, and released his arm to pat him soothingly on the chest with a mock pout. When his glare deepened and the scowl just about permanent on his mouth, Emily grinned at him and gave his cheek an affectionate pat. "Now pull up that long face of yours and smile, because your son is about to barrel into your legs."

Just as the King opened his mouth to retort, a high pitched squeal filled the air, and Aêron found his arms full of his son. Aêron laughed happily as the Crown Prince threw his arms around his neck, squeezing the boy tight. "Goodness, I believe Esteban's training has proven true – you jump like a prancing pony now, my boy," he chuckled, and leaned back to gaze upon his son's happy face.

Crown Prince Jackesyn was four years old, and would have been a spitting image of his Lord-father, if not for the soft shade of faery dust in his hair. Jack giggled at him, wriggling in Aêron's hold as he showed them both the dimples he'd inherited from the Lord-King. And then the Crown Prince frowned at his father disapprovingly, and yet again showed the royal bloodline. "Father, you're late!" he scolded the man.

Aêron chuckled at his son, lowering the boy to the ground before bowing at him. "Apologies, O Prince," he uttered humbly, much to the boy's delight and Emily's indulgent eye roll. "It seems that your father had forgotten the time, and your tutor was kind enough to come remind me." He shot Emily a look, which the woman made a face at.

"It's a good thing she did," Jack told him sternly, wagging his finger at the Lord-King with his other hand perched upon his hip. It was a pose he'd seen many a time; the same pose Lady Emmy had struck when he hadn't finished his work. "Arwen would've been very sad if you hadn't come."

At the mention of his eldest child, Aêron looked up to where Arwen sat, calm, proper and ladylike on her Welsh pony. The Heir Queen smiled shyly at her father from her saddle, holding the shifting pony at bay as she waved at him to join her. He smiled at her fondly; ever the lady that she was, Arwen was never one to fuss – not in public, at least. It was her duty as Heir Queen to lead the people one day, and she knew to keep her composure at all times.

It saddened the Lord-King a touch – she was so young, and yet her mother's death had pushed upon her little shoulders, the responsibilities of a Queen.

He glanced at Emily, watching as she moved off to go to Arwen and lean up to kiss the Heir Queen on the cheek before brushing back Arwen's long dark hair. His eyes softened as Arwen blushed at something Emily told her, and the way the Lady's hand stroked across his daughter's cheek with as much love as he would. And he could never deny the fact that Lady Emily loved his children as if they were her own; she'd practically raised Jack after his mother's death, and guided Arwen through her lessons every day.

She cared for them, cared for him, gave counsel to the Lord-King when he asked for it, and never had he sensed any growing resentment between them – the same way he'd sensed it in his late wife. She understood the rulings of a king, and she understood the responsibilities of a Queen better than he. Already she was perusing his files and requests like his Queen.

As if sensing his eyes upon her, Emily's dark eyes darted over to meet his once more, and she glanced towards where his stallion stood waiting impatiently; the liver chestnut throwing its head back and snorting for his rider. When the man merely blinked at her, Lady Emily tilted her curiously at him. "My King?" she queried.

Aêron shook himself from his thoughts, and moved swiftly to lift his son onto his dun pony. He spared Jack another smile before moving off to grasp the reins of his own charger, and mounted the stallion with a strong, smooth swing.

Perhaps, he thought, staring at the beautiful woman as she mounted her blue roan mare with swift, effortless grace. Perhaps marrying again wouldn't hurt as much as he thought after all….


	2. Matters II

They rode down by the riverside; the Lord-King's majestic chestnut marching through the waters purposefully as Arwen and Jack's ponies danced and pranced through the waters with the giggling of their riders in their wake. Lady Emily's blue roan flanked them with an indulgent patience, the woman laughing in amusement when the Lord-King was sprayed on both sides by his children rushing by. It was a lovely day to be out; the sun was warm on their faces, the breeze cool enough, and not a cloud could be seen in the sky above them.

"Have the waters wounded you, my King?" she laughed, urging her mare into a trot after the Lord-King. Behind her, not too far off but far enough to keep in the shadows, her escorts followed on their mounts. She brought her mare up alongside the King's charger, grinning wickedly at the man's drenched face and clothes. "Goodness, what damage done by those water sprites!"

Aêron grumbled at her benevolently, flicking the water dripping off his hands at her and smirking at her squeal. "Water sprites indeed," he chuffed, and nudged his stallion forwards when Arwen and Jack went too far. "Children," he called after them, and that was enough to bring them faithfully back to their sides. When Arwen appeared at his side, Aêron smiled down at his daughter and his eyes crinkled when he saw the young girl shift eagerly in her saddle.

"The Heir Queen wriggles like a worm upon her saddle," he teased her, laughing quietly when Arwen blushed prettily under her curtain of dark hair. It needn't be said aloud that Arwen was more than just a little bit eager to get to her gift. He leaned down slightly from his saddle, and caught his daughter's hazel gaze. "Go along then," he murmured warmly, dimples peeking from his cheeks when Arwen stared at him. "Have Captain Morgan and Mage Reid take you."

"Truly, Father?" she asked him, her voice a quiet awe and her eyes so sweetly wide. When Father had asked her of her wishes for her seventh Feast, she hadn't expected him to approve! He'd always insisted that she was too young to ride true horses, but much to her surprise, the Lord-King had promised to take her to the stables!

Arwen darted a glance to Lady Emily, where the elegant woman was seated upon her blue roan and keeping a steady pace with her father. Emily smiled at her then, winking surreptitiously at the girl before blinking innocently at Aêron when the man looked at her. Arwen smiled, giggling under her breath at the annoyed look on her father's face before nudging her pony onwards.

The Lord-King watched fondly as Arwen and Jack rode on, turning to where the burlier man rode up to his side. "Watch them for me, Morgan," he murmured quietly to his Guard, and the bronze man nodded silently, his charger gliding forward like a shadow after the royal children. Aêron's mouth twitched in amusement when the magister's apprentice went bouncing after him, barely able to keep steady on his loping gelding. "He's such a scrawny thing," he remarked, chuckling when the man nearly toppled over the head of his horse when it stopped abruptly.

"He'll grow eventually." Emily's dulcet voice came from beside him.

Aêron gave her an amused, sidelong glance when the woman appeared at his side, her mare striding languidly beneath her. "We're not speaking of Crown Prince, my Lady. I'm rather certain that Mage Reid has grown to his full potential already." He shook his head at the thought of the gangly man growing any longer. "He's almost a beanstalk as it is."

"Yes, and the Crown Prince and Heir Queen are growing their fair share too, are they not?" The Lady smiled wistfully as she saw Reid conjure a small water dragon from the river, much to the children's delight. A soft, melodic laugh came from Emily's throat when the water dragon weaved a dance around the ponies before disappearing in a pretty show of color in the sunlight. "Soon Jack will be asking him to teach him Magyck, and Arwen will have her coronation. You'll see," she told the Lord-King, when the man harrumphed at her.

"A blink of an eye and they'll be taller than us, and smarter too."

The Lord-King smirked out of the corner of his mouth, and he gave her a sidelong glance. "Smarter than the Lady Fairschilde? There is no such thing," he drawled dramatically, earning him a shove on the arm when the Lady's mare came brushing by his charger's side. He laughed still, but Emily knew that deep down, the Lord-King was intensely terrified of the day his children would outgrow him. She saw it now, in his smiling face; his eyes that grew dull with some lost memory or thought.

Emily wrinkled her nose at him, reining her mare in to a comfortable walk as the Lord-King pulled his charger to slow as well. They were now a good distance away from the others; far behind enough to keep track, but out of earshot. She didn't want the children or her escorts to hear this. It was bad enough that her ladies-in-waiting wouldn't stop fussing about the Lord-King's temper and his listlessness. Many of the castle's people called him the Ghost King, for he roamed the corridors and halls in the night like a restless spirit of the castle.

It came to the Lady that she too had lost many a night's sleep, worrying about the Lord-King, straining her ears in the dead of night to hear his footsteps slide quietly along the corridors. It was not a healthy habit for either of them, and she was going to address it now.

Once they were alone with but their horses beneath them and the quiet running of the river below them, Lady Emily peered at the Lord-King quietly. "You worry me, my King."

Aêron's brow arched in surprise, startled by the blunt openness the Lady held her emotions and thoughts. It was something he'd always admired about her – her ability to speak her thoughts with such grace and finesse even as she spat an insult in the face of a viscount. She was open and honest with most people, and yet when it came to the Lord-King, he couldn't help but feel her guardedness. He looked at her, confused and somewhat defensive. "Why do I worry you?" he asked her, and he saw that the Lady was gnawing on the corner of her lip.

She only ever chewed her lip when she was anxious or distracted about matters that upset her.

His hazel eyes softened on her; she really was too good to him. "Tell me," he urged her, and his quiet voice seemed to…do something to the noblewoman. Her dark lashes fluttered as she looked back at his face, and he could've sworn, if not for the glowing sun, that Lady Emily's cheeks grew flush. "Please," he murmured again, almost crooning the word.

Emily cast a somewhat dirty look at the Lord-King – damn his stupidly delicious low voice! But the Lady knew she would have to oblige the King regardless; it was what she had intended to speak with him about anyway. "You haven't been sleeping as of late," she began, eyeing the Lord-King and watching to see if he would protest and deny. To her surprise though, the man merely looked guilty and sheepish. Whatever that was bothering him must have truly bothered him for a long time.

"You walk the corridors more frequently now; when your nightmares grew too…vivid, you would come to me, or you would sit in your study and peruse your requests." Emily stared off somewhere ahead of them, her eyes glazed in an almost wistful shadow. He watched her profile with rapt fascination – the contrast of sharp and softness in her features made her quite a truly beautiful woman. Then he saw her lips roll inwards a touch, and she turned her eyes back on him. "Lately all you've been doing is pacing the corridor outside my bedroom and then disappearing into your study until dawn."

The Lord-King shifted on his saddle uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he darted a nervous look at her. "I wasn't…ah…I wasn't aware you were awake, my Lady," he told her awkwardly, blushing under his high collared shirt at the thought of keeping the Lady awake with his pacing. If he'd known that she was awake, he would have never taken to visiting her in the late hours of the night, but the Lord-King had been so desperate for her company after his nightmares. It wasn't something condoned, even by the King, to enter a Lady's bedchambers afterhours, and he was too noble a man to spurn Emily's name so.

"I apologize if I keep you from your slumber," he uttered, but Emily shook her head vehemently at him.

"That's exactly why it concerns me, Your Grace," she insisted, and suddenly she realized that the children and their guards were no longer in sights or sounds, and that their horses had stopped moving. It didn't matter – the sooner she told him what bothered her, and he to her, the better. "You're supposed to trust me with these problems. If you cannot come to me when you do not sleep, then who else can you turn to?"

Aêron stared at her for a long, hard moment, tracing the way her eyes stared into his with so much compassion and concern in them that he almost wanted to weep at her kindness. He knew, he knew very clearly that he was not the only one who woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and a scream in his throat. He knew that there were many nights that Emily would toss and turn and scream in her bed until the terrors of her nightmares released her from their blackened claws and she would run down into the stables.

He knew because he had been the one to find her curled up in her mare's stall, asleep beside the resting horse and huddled in the sweet smelling hay. He knew because he had carried the Lady back to her bed more times than he cared to count. Thinking about the times he had her pressed against his chest, staring down at the tearstains on her pretty face and the exhaustion in her body made his chest sting yet again.

"Emily," he soothed her, and the blue roan mare shifted impatiently beneath the Lady. "It is of no obligation of yours to worry about me," he told her gently, urging his charger closer so he could peer into her dark eyes. Their eyes met in a whirl of hazel and brown; each drowning in the endless depths of emotions they found there. "I am the King; it is I who should worry and fuss about my kingdom and my children and my favored counselor." He smiled when Emily rolled her eyes at him, and suddenly the Lord-King heard the niggling voice of Rossetti in the back of his head.

_She would make a wonderful Queen and an even better wife! How do you not see what is in front of you, Aêron? Madonna mia, you are as blind as the crone who weaves the wicker for baskets! No – __**even blinder!**__ Even the crone would be able to see how perfect Emilynne is for you!_

_What harm can come from your joining? You are both beautiful beyond the norms – your heirs would be blessed with their mother's beauty and their father's strength! You cannot ask for a kinder, smarter, more beautiful woman than the Lady Fairschilde. She's called that for a reason, Your Grace!_

_Your Grace!_

"Your Grace?" Emily's voice jolted him back into the present moment, and Aêron blinked rapidly to clear his head before he inclined it apologetically to her. It only served to make Emily frown in concern harder. "Are you sure you wish to continue the ride?" she asked him gently. "If you are ill, I'm sure I can take Arwen and Jack by myself if you wish to return to the castle."

The Lord-King shook his head stubbornly, brushing aside her offer perhaps too brusquely. "I'm fine," he assured her again, and then Emily thought she saw a different light in the King's eyes when he gazed upon her. Very suddenly the King seemed almost nervous, as if he wasn't sure how about to go with this. Aêron licked his lips uncertainly before offering her a watery smile. "You said before that I was to tell you what bothered me."

Emily's eyes lit up at his words, and the Lady nodded almost eagerly, leaning in subconsciously to hear him better. "If it robs you of your sleep, it must be serious," she asserted.

Aêron smiled slightly at her and nudged his chestnut forward. "Come," he said, and very soon they were making their way down the river once again. When he saw that Emily was still staring after him expectantly, he gave her a mysterious smile out of the corner of his mouth. "I will tell you when we stop for our picnic," he promised her.

"Only you must promise not to break the wine bottle over my head when I do – I've been told that Cook packed a particularly good year for us today."

* * *

They caught up with the children and their Guards not far off – the neighboring stables they were intending on visiting weren't too far, and the Lord-King and Lady managed to catch them just entering the ranch. Emily had ceased her pestering at the Lord-King's side about telling her his concerns when Aêron had stopped his horse to glare at her for a whole minute. It hadn't stopped her from sulking just a touch though, but the Lady would have to wait till lunch.

"Oh, Father, look at all the horses!" Arwen exclaimed happily when they came upon a paddock of grazing horses, the young Heir Queen gasping in delight when the small herd threw their heads up suddenly and began to canter around the paddock. The young girl was infatuated by the graceful beasts; had been so since she could hold herself up in a saddle. Arwen was a skilled rider, barely even eight and already the young Heir Queen could ride, jump, side-saddle and archer from her saddle.

Getting her a new horse was inevitable, and the Lord-King wanted a horse that she could grow up right alongside with.

Aêron smiled as he watched the horses dance and leap across the paddock, amusement and approval in the Lord-King's face as he watched the herd move as a singular unit. "They're very beautiful indeed," he agreed, smiling down at the look of speechless wonder on his daughter's innocent face. He dismounted his ride, handing the reins to Mage Reid when the man came to his side, and moved to Arwen's pony. "Shall we take a closer look, sweetheart?"

Arwen all but leapt into her father's arms, eliciting fond laughs from Lady Emily and her Guards as they watched the quiet and shy Heir Queen giggle and squeal and gasp in delight at the sight of the gathering crowd of curious horses. Lady Emily smiled affectionately at the young girl, sharing a look with Captain Morgan when the bronze man gave her a playful wink. She slid her leg over her mare, accepting Morgan's help to dismount before moving over to where the Lord-King was walking his daughter around the paddock, speaking to the Heir Queen quietly.

She followed at a respectable distance yet again – personal space was imperative with the Lord-King, and she was one who practiced it too -, holding the Crown Prince by the hand and guiding him happily by the paddock and pointing out the horses to him. She paused in her step, a smile gracing her face when she saw the Lord-King and the Heir Queen; the loving father holding his daughter in his arms and leaning over the fence to stroke a curious foal's muzzle together.

"He seems to have taken a liking to you, O Heir Queen," she heard the Lord-King's low voice rumble, and Emily couldn't help the swell of warmth in her chest…and her loins. Emily blinked, startled hard by the realization of her warming body at the Lord-King; the heat was beginning to flare across her pale skin, whether from the heat and the shame or the arousal. Of all times to let your attraction to the Lord-King show, Emilynne…you choose now.

But how could she not? The Lord-King was a tall, handsome, lean man who loved his children dearly and ruled with more justice and fairness than some of his people were worth. She'd seen him in his darkest; helped pull him out of that dark abyss and kept him away from it ever since – she'd seen his anger, his rage, his grief. She'd seen him at his best and at his worst, and he'd seen much of hers too.

And yet, the Lord-King respected her, treated her well and sometimes – dare she say it – _adored_ her despite her shortcomings.

Lady Emily shook her head decisively, chuffing to herself in disgust. _Enough with your daydreams, Emilynne; he would hardly take a second glance at you if you weren't his children's tutor. _She couldn't help but notice that the voice in her head sounded very much like Ian's.

Eoin.

She shuddered at his memory. _Never again_, she promised herself. _Never again, ever._

Emily was shaken from her thoughts (thankfully) by Arwen's clear, high voice as she came running to the Lady's side. The woman smiled down at the Heir Queen, reaching down to brush the girl's dark hair from her face indulgently. "We really must start braiding your hair again, little mouse," she tittered, stroking Arwen's pale cheek lovingly. Then the Lady bent to her level, and her eyes sparkled mischievously at the Heir Queen. "Now tell me, sweet one – which of these darling horses have been so blessed as to be the Heir Queen's choice mount?"

Arwen beamed at her tutor; the woman she loved like her own mother – the woman she was sure loved her more than her mother ever did – and took Emily by the hand before running back to her father. There she took the Lord-King's hand in her other, and guided both adults towards the still boldly curious yearling. It was a handsome beast; uneven patches of white and grullo along its sleek, muscular frame and bright, alert eyes that stared out curiously at the humans.

"Father says that if I train him well enough, one day I'll be able to ride him bareback!" Arwen told the woman excitedly, wriggling between the adults as she gripped each of their hands in hers.

Emily smiled at the Heir Queen before sharing a look with the Lord-King over her head. The Crown Prince sat comfortably on her hip, leaning out to touch the yearling's snout and squealing in delight when the horse whinnied at him. She arched an eyebrow at Aêron, a mildly dubious look in her eyes. "You would let the Heir Queen train a yearling?"

Yearlings, particularly colts were highly unpredictable beasts, and took a firm, experienced hand to train and guide if they were not gelded. A flutter of fear and apprehension sat in Emily's chest at letting the young girl handle such a strong horse alone, and it was obvious in the tense lines of her mouth and eyes.

"He is a gelding," the Lord-King assured her, and tilted his head at the worried look on her face still. "She'll fare well, I promise," he found himself saying again, giving Arwen's hand a confident squeeze when the Heir Queen looked up at him. Aêron smiled down at her before he raised his eyes back to Lady Emily, and where she was shifting Jack in her hold. "Rossetti is an aficionado at handling horses, you know that. He's already volunteered his services in helping Arwen train her new gelding."

"Which," he continued, looking down at his daughter with a wink, "still needs a name, does he not? Come, little mouse -," he gestured to the yearling in front of them, shifting in closer to Arwen as Emily came up closer as well. "What shall we name this handsome fellow?"

Arwen frowned as she thought long and hard, chewing her lip and licking her lips and fussing in between the adults as she wracked her seven year old brain for a good name. "How do I name him? I've never named a horse before," she said miserably. Their royal ponies were already named when given to them, and Raffin and Hammond were not names she would've given her horse had she been the one to name it. None of the names in her mind were fitting for a horse – he needed a name that was strong, fast and brave; like her Papa!

Lady Emily lowered Jack to his feet, her arm having begun to ache under the pressure of the young boy's weight, and smiled encouragingly at the Heir Queen. "It's the same thing as naming a dog or a cat, precious thing. Don't you worry your head over it," she assured Arwen, and gestured with her chin to where their horses stood grazing idly by the side of the fence. "Perhaps you would like an example from our own brood?" she suggested.

Arwen's dark eyes lit up. "Oh, how clever!" she cried, and turned to regard their own horses for a moment. "How did you name your horses?"

"Well, the Duke of Brixton had been a dear, dear friend of mine," the Lord-King told her, smiling wistfully at his charger grazing beside Lady Emily's mare. "He was a brave comrade in arms, and he fought valiantly by my side at the fall of the Tyrant. Naming Bowen after him kept him close to heart and close to memory." Then the Lord-King smiled wryly. "And Bowen shared the Duke's odd eye color."

The chestnut stallion raised his head curiously at his name, ear twitching as he raised his heterochromic eyes. One was a bright blue, and the other a warm brown, and both focus intently on his rider. When the Lord-King nodded at him, Bowen burred quietly and resumed his grazing.

Arwen stared after her father's horse with wide-eyed awe, lips parted in fascination as she turned to Lady Emily. "And you, Emmy?" She tugged on the woman's hand eagerly for her tale. "How did you name yours?"

"How did you _get _yours?" the Crown Prince piped up, bouncing on his heels from her side. "Lady Penelope says that blue roans are difficult horses to catch and tame – and not many come easily to its master." He stared up at his father and tutor. "Did you bring your horse from your kingdom, Emmy?"

Lady Emily blew out an amused breath, gazing at her mare fondly before darting a surreptitious glance to the Lord-King. The story behind her mare was something they both shared. "Well, my sweet, I came to your kingdom with not much else but the clothes on my back and my living body. When your father had granted my presence in the castle, I'd begun my duties as your tutor, and as a Lady of the kingdom. That meant that I would need to travel a lot between the castle and the town, and I didn't wish to burden the carriages to guide me every time I needed to leave the castle."

The Lord-King listened with a quiet solemnity, remembering the day she'd come to the castle, broken, bleeding and dressed in what was left of her modest dress. She'd come to him, in shock and in pain, and yet had found the energy to abide by rule of land and officially request sanctuary from him. So steadfast was the Lady Fairschilde that she'd limped towards his throne, despite his fervent protests, and kissed the ring upon his hand before collapsing in his arms.

But that was not the tale she was spinning for his children now. This particular memory was a fond one of his as well.

"…one day your father called me to the grounds, and requested that I come alone. I'd been reluctant at first, but I rarely declined a challenge, and a challenge it was." He smiled out of the corner of his mouth at this – a mule was the apprentice of the Lady, he was sure. "And I walked down the grounds to the stable, and lo, there your father stood, holding Wynne's reins in hand."

"It was a gift of practicality," he told them humbly, inclining his head at the Lady when she darted an unreadable glance his way.

Emily smiled drolly at the Lord-King and continued with a smile. "It was an expensive gift of practicality," she corrected him, shaking her head indulgently when Arwen peered at her curiously. "Blue roans are a rare color for horses, that is true, and many say that the color of the horse affects the temperament it holds. Horses wear their coats as we do our titles," she told them, her voice taking an almost dreamy quality. "I named her Wynne because that is what she symbolized to me – fairness and purity."

It was then she blinked, as if woken from a trance, and she looked down at Arwen with a serene smile. "But enough about us, Your Grace – have we inspired you enough to come up with a name?" She refused to meet the Lord-King's gaze; though she could feel the heated weight of his eyes boring into the side of her face. She could remember that night as vividly as she could her name, but it was a recollection she preferred not to share with the Lord-King, lest she find herself banished from his kingdom.

The Heir Queen frowned yet again as she stared after her yearling colt, watching as the nimble creature sprinted away, darting this way and that with the ease and skill of a lightning bolt. "He moves faster than the wind," she murmured, and then Arwen's eyes snapped open wide.

How could she not have seen it before?

"Wind!" she cried, spinning to face Aêron and Emily now as she beamed at them with a broad smile, dimples clear on her face. "I shall call him Wind!"

The Lord-King and Lady stepped back as Jack and Arwen began squealing the name, laughing to themselves as the children rushed off to gather their ponies and inform the horse breeder. Aêron chuckled as he watched them trot off with Mage Reid, shaking his head fondly after his children when he caught Emily's eye. "Wind it is then," he uttered dryly, and the Lady smiled at him knowingly.

A soft, comfortable silence fell upon them then, and quickly morphed into an awkward shuffling of feet as they thought of what to say to the other. Usually they rarely needed words to communicate, but somehow the air between them had grown too thick for silence. Emily's hands found the lace edge of her riding cape, and she fiddled with its trimmings as the Lord-King cleared his throat awkwardly.

"My Lady…," he began, and was horrified to find himself blushing when the Lady's eyes met his. Suck it up, old man; you've spoken to her about worse things than this! He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried again. "Emily….I would like to observe my promise to you and speaking of what had troubled me as of late. If – if of course, you still wish for me to tell you," he stuttered, mentally kicking himself when a flash of hurt and confusion crossed her face.

"Why would I wish otherwise, Your Grace?" she asked him, genuinely confused. "I've never turned you away before – it would be unlikely that I was to do so now."

The naïve countenance on her beautiful face threatened to make the Lord-King smile – Lady Emily was a worldly woman; skilled in more languages than he was aware of and knowledgeable about many things about the world. It was why he had originally deemed her fit to teach his children after all. But what amused and fascinated him most about the woman was her ability to remain so grounded in herself despite her high-born status.

A Queen should have humility when ruling her people.

_His _Queen should be Emily.

"Your Grace?" Lady Emily prompted; peering at him expectantly as he mustered all the courage he could find inside him and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Lady Emily," he returned her smile with a nervous one as she looking at him encouragingly. "You have long been a favored companion and confidant to me. Though the circumstances of your arrival into my kingdom and castle had…left much to be desired, know that I do not regret your presence in my life. Know that without you in my life and in the castle, my life would definitely be a very dull life to lead. You…you really are an incredibly fascinating woman, did you know?"

Air seemed to be the hardest thing to get into her chest, as Lady Emily stared at the Lord-King with wide, uncertainly curious eyes. There was a peculiar tone in his words, an odd gleam of warmth and…disquiet in his eyes as he stood before her now. What confused her most was that she found that she couldn't accurately define the emotions on his face, nor the ones roiling in a hot pit inside her stomach. She licked her lips nervously, her voice a throaty hum when she spoke.

"My King, I'm not sure I follow," she confessed, brow wrinkling slightly when the Lord-King suddenly seemed to be afraid of what she was about to say. "Have _I _been the reason you've been kept from your bed?" Emily looked beyond upset at the revelation.

Aêron rushed to soothe her, sputtering through his words in a jumbled mess. "No, of course not – I mean yes – well not directly -." He stared at Emily with a pained grimace as the Lady seemed torn between apologizing and asking him to shut up. "Emily -." Out of impulse, the Lord-King reached for her hand, grasping in firmly in his as the Lady's eyes snapped up to his face in a start before darting down to their joined hands.

The King in him demanded that he release her, but the man in Aêron noted the soft, silky smoothness of her skin against his. He could hold her hand for the rest of eternity, if it fit the way it did in his hand – the perfect size, the perfect shape, the perfect fit to the empty space of his palm. The Lord-King was emboldened further when he realized that the Lady had yet to pull her hand from his.

"Emily," he said again, and this time her name fell from his lips in a quiet thrum – so low and intimate, that the Lady could not suppress the shiver it wrought along her body. It was the way a man spoke the name of his lover. He stepped closer to her, such minimal space between them that he could smell the soft tease of the Lady's lavender scent tickling his nose. "Emily, I -,"

"Lord-King Aêron."

They separated hastily, so fast that Emily barely had time to cry out when her boot caught on a protruding rock before she was falling backwards. She flailed out her hand to the King, gasping his name – his _given _name – in her fright just as the Lord-King lunged for her. Very suddenly Emily found a pair of strong, firm hands gripping her biceps before she was propelled forward into a broad, warm chest. She gasped again, sharp and muffled into the chest of her King as her hands came to grip the sides of his narrow waist while the Lady tried to steady her pounding heart.

It was a moment of gasping breaths and tight embraces before the Lord-King pulled back slightly to stare down at her face, hazel eyes clouded with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly, breathless amidst the scent of lavender and spice and something uniquely her. Her body was pulled tight against his, and Aêron could feel the soft warmth of her curves permeating through the tight corset dress and riding cape. Gods – he could feel it through _his _shirt and cape!

"I'm – I'm fine, Your Majesty," Emily stuttered hurriedly, pressing her hands insistently against the man's broad chest until the Lord-King acquiesced and released her…with some reluctance. Her cheeks burned as she lowered her gaze from Aêron's intense stare, quelling the spreading heat being pressed against his muscular body had caused in the pit of her stomach. The Lady Emily cleared her throat, and turned to where Morgan stood quiet and as unobtrusive as he could manage.

The darker man bowed his head slightly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he uttered lowly, and his dark eyes glanced over Lady Emily and the Lord-King with an amused glint. "The children grow hungry and restless for their meal." He had seen the dark haired pair speaking from a distance; knew from the closing gap between them that whatever the Lord-King was saying was of a highly personal matter and something Morgan did not wish to interrupt. But the Crown Prince had announced his hunger impatiently, and the Captain of the Guard was sworn to obey.

Emily half-turned to Aêron, expecting the Lord-King to oblige the beckoning of his children, but was startled to find the man's face set in a resolute frown. "Attend to their lunch then," he ordered Morgan, waving a dismissive hand in the air as he turned back to Emily. "The Lady and I will follow suit soon enough. I must speak with Lady Emily now, lest the last of my courage abandons me," he muttered the last few words, that only he and Emily could hear them before waving Morgan away one last time.

With a curt nod of his head, the Captain of the Guard spun on his heels to tend to the royal children, leaving the Lord-King and Lady alone once more. If his instincts were true – and rarely did they ever betray him – Morgan knew that what the King was about to tell Emily was something a long time in the making.

Soon enough, there would be another Queen on the throne, and more royal children to guard and play with.

Confused, and perhaps a little anxious, Emily turned to the Lord-King, licking the corner of her mouth nervously. "My King -," she began, but suddenly Aêron had stepped into her personal space yet again. The gasp hitched in her throat, and the Lord-King's eyes trailed down the long, elegant neck of the Lady.

"You've never called me by my given name before," he uttered lowly. He wanted to hear it on her lips again – and again and again and again, if he could help it. Never had it been spoken as…distractingly as it had from the Lady's red lips.

Emily blinked, flushing pink with embarrassment. "It has never been allowed, my King," she reminded him, keeping her gaze somewhere between his chest and behind his arm. "The Lord-King's name is only ever spoken by his closest councilmen and his family."

Very slowly, he reached up with his hand, slipping his fingers under the soft skin of her chin and guiding Emily's eyes up to his as he stared down with a dangerously blazing gaze. "You _are_ my closest council," he said lowly, his voice dripping like molten honey over her skin. "And perhaps, if you would grant it, you shall be my family as well."

Emily's heart jolted in her chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"You asked me to tell you what kept me from my bed," he murmured, dark eyes trailing her face, caressing the soft contours and hard ridges like a physical touch that had Emily shivering. "I wish to do so now – without interruptions and without the council breathing down my neck. I am doing this because I feel it in my heart. I know this decision is the right one to make."

Her heart was pounding now, her stomach clenched and aflutter as Emily stared up at the Lord-King. Her head was beginning to buzz a quiet hum with every breath that seemed to hitch in her throat. "My King…." The title came in an almost reverent whisper; a breathy sigh of nervousness and uncertainty.

Aêron shifted on his feet and summoned his courage. "The council has been restless with my continuing bachelorhood," he revealed, long-suffering exasperation in his voice that Emily knew had vexed him for many months. She had been the one to soothe his temper after the council meetings. "They will not rest until there is another Queen on the throne and by my side. I have managed, for a while now, to ease their fussing, but now it seems that their patience has worn thin with my excuses."

He licked his lips, and Emily found her eyes tracking the movement unconsciously. "Emily…" Aêron reached down for her hand, grasping it gently in his and was gratified when Emily twined their fingers together. Squeezing gently, he met her gaze and held it. "I ask you this not because of my obligation to the throne. You came to my kingdom, you've saved my life and my children's, and for that I will owe you a debt of a lifetime. But now I ask you for one last favor, if you are able to find it in your heart to grant me it."

Emily couldn't breathe. The air refused to stay within her chest as she stepped back and stared speechlessly at the Lord-King when he slowly began to drop onto a knee in front of her. A sharp gasp finally came from her throat, and Emily's free hand came up to her mouth in disbelief. Her wide, dark eyes sought Aêron's frantically, incredulously as the Lord-King took her hand in both of his. "Your Grace, this is very sudden!" she murmured, and her head began to spin more.

When had it gotten so stiflingly hot?

The Lord-King smiled up at her, his mouth twitching nervously though his eyes were warm and unassuming. "To us, it is," he agreed, "but to many it's been a long time coming." In that moment, they shared a quiet, knowing smile before Aêron squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It does not make it any less sincere, I promise you. The children adore you; they love you more than they could ever love their mother, and…and lately I've found myself unable to resist my feelings for you as well." Aêron flushed pink at his confession, and Emily found it the most adorable sight. "You are undoubtedly the most beautiful woman of all the land; your spirit burns a flame that I cannot help but yield to like a drunken moth to a blazing flame. Your courage and strength and grace have astounded me since the day you came to the castle, and my fascination and admiration of you grows with every passing moment I am in your presence."

And then the Lord-King cleared his throat firmly, and gave Emily a resolute nod. "Lady Emilynne, Fairschilde of the House Prentiss; governess and tutor to the royal children Thunderfrost - it would do me great honor and joy if you would be my Queen."

Emily's mouth parted in a wordless breath, and then shut, and then opened once more. All the while, no sound could be heard from her lips besides the quiet gasp of air as her brain rushed in a flurry to process this proposal. A proposal for her to be his bride and Queen – to _rule the kingdom together_ and _bear his children _–

"I can't breathe!" she blurted suddenly, and Emily began to sway on her feet as black spots danced in and out of her vision. The corset wrapped around her body was suddenly maddeningly tight, and Emily's free hand sought desperately for its release. "I can't _breathe_!"

Aêron was immediately on his feet, hands grasping Emily's waist in alarm when the woman's face began to drain of color. "Emily, are you alright?" he demanded hurriedly, voice tense with concern as he stared at her increasingly pale face and heaving chest. His brain immediately directed him to the corset she was so desperately trying to remove, and without thinking – ripped the corset laces apart. The act pulled her to him with a violent jerk, and Emily gave a sharp cry as her lungs seized the newly brought freedom.

But it was much too late, and Emily once again found herself stumbling into the Lord-King's arms, her name at his frantic lips. The last thing she remembered before the darkness was thinking '_Mercy, what he'll do to my dress on our wedding night'._


	3. Matters III

When Emily came to, she found herself back within the warm and comforting chambers of her room; staring up dazedly at the dancing shadows the sunlight cast upon her ceiling. It was a moment that the Lady stared up at her ceiling with furrowed brows and unseeing eyes before she heard the door sound. She struggled upright as she heard the swishing of skirts move towards her, her head swimming as she held a hand up to her temple to ease the pounding in her brain.

Two women stood by her bedside, both she recognized to be her ladies-in-waiting, and both frowning at her worriedly. "What happened?" she mumbled, them staring at her with a mild frown on their faces. Penelope held a tray of what looked to be bread, cheese and fruit – most likely sent from Cook.

Jennifer, the petite blonde not much younger than her, spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. "The Lord-King brought you back," she informed the Lady shortly, seating herself by Emily's side and reaching out to touch the dizzy brunette's hand gently. Her bright blue eyes stared into Emily's dark ones, worry and curiosity clear in the blonde's gaze as she regarded Emily's pallid color. "Do you not remember, my Lady? How do you feel now?" she asked, pressing a slender hand to Emily's forehead.

Her ladies-in-waiting were absolutely terrified when the Lord-King had ridden like seven devils were at his heels to get back to the castle, Emily pressed into his chest and demanding that they take her to her room. "Right out marched his way into your chambers, he did," her other lady-in-waiting, Penelope piped up; a buxom woman of cheery disposition and fiery red hair. Penelope bustled around the bed, gently lowering the tray of food over the reclining Lady's lap. "Mage Reid said it was a heat-faint, dear Lady. He said you haven't been eating enough nor resting, and the Lord-King all but demanded Cook to bring food to you and that no one disrupt your slumber."

Penelope couldn't help but sigh dreamily as she recalled the Lord-King's fierce demeanor and firm gaze clouded in concern. "Oh, you should've seen him, Emily – all fire and frost and thunderclap. He wanted to stay by your side, too; that's how much that man worries for you!" She giggled at the rosy flush that came to the Lady's cheeks, the color doing much to improve her complexion. And truly the Lord-King was a sight to behold – powerful arms lifting Emily to his chest and holding her there protectively while his long, muscular legs strode down the hall towards her room. His low, clear voice barking orders and demanding the presence of the Magister and the Lady's trusted companions.

Both Emily and Jennifer jumped when Penelope squealed as she recalled another particular memory. "Your clothes were utterly rags, my Lady!" she shrieked, crowing with girlish delight. "Oh, did the Lord-King _ravage _you by the riverside? Did he _mount _you on his steed?"

Emily's jaw dropped at the incredibly inappropriate suggestions, blustering heatedly at the very thought of doing something as _debauched _as –as – "We did no such thing!" she sputtered, and it was only by Jennifer's reflexes that prevented Emily from toppling the tray of food. "My corset was stifling my breathing, and the Lord-King must have – taken it upon himself to forcibly remove it from my body, but we did nothing of the sort! The King and I were simply talking, Penelope! We – we were discussing council matters!" Immediately her cheeks rose up in a flame again when she recalled just what the Lord-King had said to her.

And then she began to swoon again.

"Do you feel faint still, my Lady?" Jennifer asked her anxiously. She stroked the Lady's face, brushing the dark strands of hair behind her ear as Emily opened her mouth to speak, but found that she could only stutter. Jennifer's brows pulled together worriedly and her mouth pursed into a tense line. "You must rest, Emily."

Emily shook her head stubbornly, swallowing the bitter bile in her throat as she gently brushed aside Jennifer's worried caresses. "I'm well enough," she told the blonde, but could not resist when Jennifer lifted a piece of strawberry to her mouth. Reluctantly she opened her red mouth and allowed the blonde to feed her, eyes never leaving Jennifer's in a petulant glare. "I'm fine," she insisted, once she'd swallowed her bite.

It wasn't until the food had reached her stomach did the Lady realize how hungry she truly was.

Jennifer hummed at her mildly, brushing her thumb across Emily's lips to wipe away the red juice of the fruit. "The Lord-King has ordered me to ensure that you recuperate as you should," she told the brunette, smiling in a way that was no way demure. "A Lady does not disobey the orders of her King."

It took every ounce of strength that Emily had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at her lady-in-waiting and best friend, and the woman smirked indulgently at the blonde before taking another bite of the proffered fruit. "Disobey her King," she mocked in a grumble, chortling snidely when Jennifer wiped her mouth again and now offered her a goblet of some sweet, zesty scented liquid. Emily raised an eyebrow dubiously at it.

"Mage Reid says it's to help with the dizziness," Jennifer assured her, and Emily took a tentative sip. It tasted like lemons and spring-time on her tongue, and Emily found herself delightfully refreshed.

Just then the doors to her bedchambers groaned open, and in strode the Lord-King, now dressed in his more casual garb of a loose-collared tunic tucked into his breeches. The ladies were immediately on their feet, curtseying politely to the Lord-King and bowing their heads as he stood, tense and concerned just before Emily's bed. With a nod of his head, Penelope and Jennifer resumed their positions; Penelope eyeing Emily sharply and jerking her head towards Aêron while mouthing 'fire and frost!' to the Lady.

"Lady Emily." The girls were all but giddy at the way he spoke her name. "How do you fare?"

Emily nodded to him cordially. "I fare well, my King. I've been told that I have you to thank for that," she replied, and somewhere in the back of the Lady's mind, she fussed petulantly at not being conscious enough to recall the feeling of the Lord-King's chest pressed against her. If he'd ridden back with her on his saddle, there was no doubt that there had been very close contact – closer than the way he'd held her from falling earlier. Emily's cheek grew hot against her will, and she lowered her gaze away from the Lord-King. "I thank you, Your Grace. Your swift actions will guarantee my full recovery very shortly."

Aêron nodded at this, and then waved Jennifer and Penelope away. "I wish to speak with the Lady alone, if you would grant it," he told them, when Jennifer kept her place and eyed him uncertainly. Penelope had a completely alternate reaction to his request; the woman practically leapt off the bed and curtseyed to the Lord-King before disappearing out the doors. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"You had ordered her to rest, Your Highness," Jennifer reminded the Lord-King, her tone resolute. "It behooves me to deny your request if it disrupts her Ladyship's rest."

The Lord-King inclined his head at the woman, taking no offense to Jennifer's considerably bold defiance of his request. Jennifer was Emily's dearest and closest confidant and companion; it was not his place even as King to disrespect the Lady's dearly beloved friend. He had, after all, specifically ordered her to deny those who wished to interrupt the Lady's rest. "I assure you that I will be brief," he promised her.

The blonde bit her lip, darting a glance between the Lord-King and Lady briefly before Emily gave her an imperceptible nod. With a quiet sigh, Jennifer turned her eyes up to the King flatly. "Perhaps Your Grace would have better chances at making the Lady eat." She eyed Emily wryly before brushing the brunette's hair behind her ear once more, and bending down, caught Emily's red lips in a sweet chaste kiss. Rising from the bed and curtseying, Jennifer bowed to the Lord-King. "The chamber is yours, O King."

With the room finally devoid of others, Aêron lowered his gaze to Emily gently, smiling out of the corner of his mouth as he stepped towards the bed. "How do you feel, truly?" he asked her then, taking Jennifer's place by Emily's bedside. His hand, large and warm, came up to rest upon her throw-covered leg, and Emily could feel the heat of his hand radiating through the material. His brows were pulled together mildly, concern still clear in his warm hazel eyes.

"You were unconscious for some amount of time, my Lady," he told her, and in his tone was a mixture of worry and a benevolent reproach. "You should have told me you were not well – I would have had you resting and not riding with us!"

Emily shook her head at the Lord-King, placing her hand over his on her leg as she smiled at him wanly. Almost the moment her skin came into contact with his, Aêron fell silent, and there was something incredibly dark and much too inappropriate in his eyes. Emily smothered the rising heat in her stomach at the heated gaze, and instead gave the Lord-King's hand a pat. "I am well," she soothed him, and her long fingers traced idle patterns on the war-toughened skin of his hand. "It was a mistake on my part for not taking breakfast this morning, but I had been rushed for time to meet Heir Queen Arwen for her lessons."

The Lord-King chuffed at her, but said nothing else of the matter. Instead they sat there in a somewhat awkward silence; neither of them sure if the topic needed to be addressed again. But Aêron cleared his throat quietly, and thought it best to get it over and done with so that he may leave her to rest again. "My Lady, I apologize if my proposal had overwhelmed you," he murmured lowly to her, so low that Emily was sure that any prying ears (and she was sure that Penelope had her ear pressed against the chamber door) would only make out a mumble.

"It was not my intentions at all." He grasped her hand in his again, their fingers once more interlacing by instinct now as he met her gaze. "But know that I meant it with all my being," he whispered to her, and Emily shivered at the gravelly tone of his words. Presently he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of her hand that lingered for a moment too long to be chaste.

When his dark eyes rose to meet hers, Emily felt her breath hitch. "My King," she breathed, and Aêron straightened in his seat, her hand in his still. "You offer something I fear I am not worthy of."

"You are the most worthy," he countered stubbornly, shaking his head at her incredulously at the very suggestion. Not worthy, hah! If the Lady was not worthy of the throne, no woman was. "I should think that I would only take the most worthy bride to be my Queen, and you, Lady Emily, are the most worthy of them all." He grinned at her blush, eyes glittering devilishly when the Lady huffed at him.

"Perhaps it would soothe you if I repeated my proposal," he said suddenly, and the Lord-King was down on one knee yet again, staring up at Emily's wide-eyed face with too much affection to be platonic. "Lady Emily, Fairschilde of the House Prentiss; most beautiful companion and confidant of the Lord-King Thunderfrost – would you do honor to an old, curmudgeon fool-king, and be my blushing, radiant bride?"

Unable to help herself, Emily giggled at the Lord-King's re-proposal, waving at the man until he rose from his knee, but Aêron shook his head. "I'll not leave this knee until I have an answer, and that answer is 'yes'," he told her, and Emily rolled her eyes fondly.

Taking a breath, Emily stared down at the Lord-King with a dramatically exasperated look. The mask would have been convincing enough, had it not been for the smile tugging at her lips. "I accept your proposal, fool-king," she announced graciously, grinning when Aêron surged to his feet with a disbelieving, eager grin. "I must confess that I too have grown very fond of you through the years, my King. It – it wasn't in my place to express them until now," she admitted, smiling bashfully at the way her confession prompted the Lord-King's eyes to brighten.

Aêron's eyes softened as he stared at Emily, leaning in to share a shy smile with the woman. "We were both too proud and too blinded to see it before, but now that we have, I have no intentions of letting you slip under my grasp again," he said, gripping her hand in his and thrusting his chin out resolutely. When Emily smiled indulgently at his mocking show of defiance, Aêron grinned wider. "The children will be beyond themselves with delight."

"Oh!" Emily gasped, shaking her head incredulously at herself for forgetting about Arwen and Jack. She must have been much more disoriented than she'd thought. She stared up at her betrothed – ignoring the way the title surged heat in her stomach and leaps in her heart – and chewed her lip anxiously. "Will the children accept me as their Queen? What if they hate me?" she asked him nervously. She couldn't stand the idea of the Crown Prince and Heir Queen hating her – she loved them so deeply!

The Lord-King's eyes sparkled with adoring amusement. "No one can hate you, my Lady, and certainly not the children! They already look upon you like a mother, Emily – it would please them endlessly to know that you will truly be their Queen," he promised her, and the Lady seemed to come to terms with that. After a moment though, there came a peculiar look upon the Lord-King's face.

Aêron licked his lips nervously, looking both pained and excited as he addressed Emily again. "May I…I apologize if this is very forward, but…may I…kiss you?" As he said this, his gaze had inadvertently dropped to her full, red mouth, and his eyes tracked her tongue as it came out to lick her lower lip.

Hesitation and exhilaration fought for control within Emily, but the Lady showed none of the dithering inside her when she stared at the Lord-King through hooded eyes and a rather come hither smirk on her lips. "I am your bride, Your Grace." Her dark eyes flashed. "I believe a certain Lord-King had once told me that whatever he wants, he takes," she told him huskily, smiling wickedly when Aêron's eyes darkened. "What was it exactly, you said to me?"

"I do what I want," he rumbled, and Aêron leaned forward to capture her deliciously enticing mouth.

The intention behind the kiss had been innocent at best; a well-intentioned and albeit eager Lord-King wishing to kiss his bride before their day of wed, but the kiss had very quickly grown a mind of its own. When their lips met, Emily couldn't help but start at the jolt of electricity it sent through her, sweet and demure it may have been. A soft, mewling keen erupted from her throat then, and the Lord-King took the encouragement for what it was and deepened the kiss.

She tasted like strawberries and something distinctly…_her._

It was the most intoxicating taste he'd ever tasted.

As he plundered harder, his hands coming up to grip her arms and they began to lean into the bed, the Lord-King's crown brushed the dark tresses on her forehead. It washed over him like a blistering burst of water, and Aêron pulled back with a gasp. It was not of the King to tarnish a Lady's reputation so…until the wedding. The Lady whimpered in her throat when he pulled his lips from hers, and Aêron cast an apologetic look at Emily as they caught their breaths. "I'm sorry," he breathed, chest heaving still at the taste and the memory. "It should not have gotten so…fevered." His eyes were still tracing her lips though; the damp, red lips that he was sure would haunt the rest of his dreams until the wedding.

Emily did her best to catch her breath, chest heaving and mind spinning as she struggled to quell the rising heat in her loins. "It was…it was much too pleasing for words to describe, my King. My only regret is that it was so brief." The Lord-King's lips were softer than expected; his taste leaving her aching for more.

There was still something very dark and inappropriate in his gaze; stronger than before, wilder than she'd ever seen him.

But they could not – not until they were wed, and she was to lie in his bed beside him.

Under him.

Suddenly Emily couldn't wait to be Queen Consort. And judging by the feral gleam in the Lord-King's eyes, she wasn't the only one.

* * *

The Lord-King had left Emily's side soon after, with heavy feet and a dour scowl on his face. It took every ounce of his willpower not to ravage the Lady then and there, but she needed rest and he needed to inform the council of his decisions. No doubt they were itching for an answer the moment word had spread of his proposal to the Lady. He reached the council chamber's giant wooden doors, and bracing his palms upon each door, pushed them open with a great heave.

The room full of chattering old men fell silent as the great doors swung open, staring as the Lord-King strode towards them in a purposeful march. They bowed low and parted for the Lord-King before moving to circle the man. "What news do you bring, O Great King?" an older, withering councilman inquired; his voice dry as papyrus while his peers murmured anxiously around him.

Aêron stood within the circle of men, staring out determinedly into the throng as they took their seats and watched him like eager, greedy vultures. "I'm sure the news has reached your ears that I have proposed to Lady Prentiss." It was a statement, and he waited for no confirmation before continuing. "You would all be pleased to know that the Lady has accepted my hand in marriage."

"Praise be!" another man cried, as the council erupted in cheers and laughter, hugging and chattering and announcing their pre-meditation of the King's advances. Chancellor Rossetti descended from his seat, rushing to Aêron and hugging the man tight before kissing his chastely on both cheeks.

"_Magnifico! Splendido! _You've finally come to your senses, Aêron!" the older man laughed, giving the Lord-King's shoulder a hearty squeeze. "Congratulations, Great King! You are truly a well-suited match for each other!" Rossetti gave him a cheeky wink. "Soon enough, we'll have a brood of heirs running about the castle halls!"

Aêron flushed at the insinuation, and also at the memory it brought forth of their kiss, and the Lord-King was assaulted then by a chorus of 'yes, heirs! What beautiful heirs!' from his councilmen. "At least let us settle into a life of matrimony first!" he sputtered, though deep down he envisioned Emily ripe with child, with perhaps two other children at her side – a boy and a girl; with her smile and his dimples, and their mother's dark eyes.

"But you do plan on producing more heirs, do you not, Your Majesty?" a younger councilman questioned, and the Lord-King bristled when he found the councilman's gaze much too simpering and his tone too patronizing for his liking. "T'would be a waste if you don't – a Lady so divine as her Ladyship Emily would be almost assuredly delicious in your marriage bed."

"You dare speak this of the Lady?!" Aêron snarled, and the council chamber fell into a thick silence. All eyes fell upon the councilman in a wave of glares, and the councilman curled into himself fearfully before stuttering an apology to the Lord-King. Aêron made to move towards the councilman, but Rossetti grasped his arm firmly, and gestured to the guards instead.

"Get him out of our sights," Rossetti growled, and watched coldly as two burly guards manhandled the cowering man out of the chamber. "Throw him down into the cellars – my hounds have been howling for a new toy to ruin."

Once the man's terrified pleas were beyond the chamber doors, the oldest of the men inclined his head to the Lord-King. "Congratulations, Your Grace. I know I speak for the whole of our council when I say that the fair Lady Emily will fill her duty as Queen Consort most diligently and justly," he told Aêron astutely. "We look forward to your reign with your new Queen Consort by your side." He smiled at Aêron warmly.

"Shall we proceed with the declaration of the joining, O King?"

Aêron huffed at the men, simmering still from the words of the unctuous former-councilman. "I suppose we shall," he replied, turning to Rossetti. "Spread the word across the land; leave no mind unaware and ear unheard – there is to be a Queen Consort on the throne once more, and a bride for the Lord-King."


	4. Matters IV

Word had spread fast and wide across the land, and by the end of the week, all of Aêron's kingdom was buzzing with anticipation of the royal wedding. Many visiting royalty extended their congratulations; many having already been acquainted with the Lady Emily, and many adoring the woman nearly as much as the Lord-King did. The people whispered and chattered and cheer amongst themselves, singing praises and joys and cheers for the soon-to-be Queen Consort.

Snow White could take the throne, and all would live happily ever after.

Arwen and Jackesyn were even more delighted by the news than Aêron had anticipated. The Heir Queen had thrown herself into Emily's arms, squealing happily while the Crown Prince had thrown his windows open and frightened the poor gardener when he'd bellowed 'MY BIRTHDAY WISH CAME TRUE AND IT'S NOT MY BIRTHDAY YET!' for all to hear. Once the children had calmed enough to sit still, they then proceeded to sit themselves in front of Emily and Aêron seriously.

"You _will _be having babies, won't you?" Arwen asked them, oblivious of their mortified faces.

Jack jumped up. "Oh, yes!" he cried. "Do have babies, Father! I want a baby brother!"

"And I a sister!" the Heir Queen added, equally excited. "Ooh, Father, they'll have your dimples and Lady Emmy's beautiful eyes! Have a boy _and _a girl!"

"Have ten of them!" Jack hollered, bouncing upon his knees, unable to control his glee at the revelation of being an older brother. "I want lots and lots of baby brothers! We'll play War and Dragons all the time and I'll teach them how to shoot arrows from their horses!"

Aêron cleared his throat weakly, face an unhealthy shade of white. "Now, children -,"

Arwen shoved her brother playfully. "I don't want just all little brothers!" she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the thought before turning to Lady Emily – who looked very much like a petrified doe. "I want a little sister – no, _two _little sisters! Three, even! I want them to look just like Lady Emily because she's the fairest of the land and the smartest too!" She beamed at the woman, throwing her arms around Emily's neck and hugging her tight.

"May we call you our mother now, Emmy?" Jack asked suddenly, and Emily darted a look at the Lord-King. The young heir fidgeted in his seat now, picking at his fingers as he watched their faces anxiously for an answer. "It's just that you're all I know of a mother, Emmy. Even Arwen says you treat her better than our mother had."

Emily took a moment to compose herself, willing the color to flood back into her face as she gave him a warm smile, though her eyes were still apprehensive and unsure. Arwen shifted in her lap, and the Lady brushed the Heir Queen's dark hair from her face before planting a loving kiss on Arwen's forehead. "You may call me what you like," she told them warmly, and her brown eyes smiled at them both. "But let us wait until after your father and I are actually wed, yes? It wouldn't do for you to call me Mother before I've actually earned the title," she explained patiently.

The Lady glanced at the Lord-King, an anxious gleam in her eyes when she realized that Aêron had been silent all this while. She bit her lip, thinking perhaps the children had struck a nerve with all their talk of titles and their late mother Queen Haley. Emily had come to the kingdom shortly after the birth of the Crown Prince, and did her best to keep within the Queen's good graces. It was clear to all within the castle that Queen Haley took a jealous perception of the Lady Fairschilde, and many times Aêron had struggled to soothe his nearly delusional Queen of her accusations of adultery.

He loved Haley, at least for the better part of their marriage. But perhaps the Lord-King had loved her once before; and then he loved her only as the mother of his children – the children she had barely spared a second glance once she'd birthed a male heir. The Council's words had rung true, though Aêron had refused to believe them at first -

Haley wanted the throne, and nothing else.

Arwen had been born to a disappointed mother and smitten father; raised and taught the ways of the heir of the throne without the love and affections of a mother – until the arrival of Lady Emily to the kingdom. She had learned of acceptance and praise and pride, but somehow it was only Emily's love and affections that seemed to reach the young Heir Queen. Arwen was three years old, and behind closed doors would often refer to Lady Emily as her Mama until she learned otherwise.

No one knew but Emily and Arwen's nanny.

The Lord-King swallowed thickly and gave his children a quiet, serious look. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, children, Lady Emily and I must be joined in matrimony," he told them mildly, and Arwen and Jack sat like impatient puppies for a treat. "You know perfectly well that Lady Emily and I sleep in separate rooms until the ceremony."

"And Lady Jennifer has been keeping me very warm and safe for your father," Emily told them, nodding her head as Aêron darted a sidelong look her way. It was no secret to those in the castle that Jennifer shared her bed; Emily needed to keep warm during the nights, and so did the petite blonde. Perhaps in the night, they shared tales of girlish childhoods and adolescence, giggling and sighing in their wistful way. Sometimes, in the dark of night, when the thunder and lightning raged and the winds howled, they found other ways of distracting each other.

Aêron continued smoothly. "However many children we have -," he darted a look at Emily, and the Lady met it with a blush, "will be decided thereafter."

"We could choose to have no more," Emily added coyly, grinning at the children when they stared at her incredulously, followed by the Lord-King's own sputtering indignation. "Well, two royal children are already a handful, why – imagine what havoc two more would wreak upon your poor Nanny!" she teased, laughing when their faces morphed from anxious uncertainty to petulant scowls.

"Fibbing is wrong, Emmy," Jack chided her, and Lady Emily laughingly inclined her head apologetically to the Crown Prince. Presently their nanny appeared at library door, alerting them of the children's field lessons with Chancellor Rossetti and Captain Morgan. The children went with somewhat heavy hearts; heaviness Emily soothed with loving kisses to their foreheads and playful tickling, as she always did.

With the children gone, Aêron scowled benevolently at his beautiful betrothed. "And here I thought the Lady was abhorred at the thought of having my children," he huffed, shaking his head at the woman.

A demure smile graced Lady Emily's lips, though her eyes flashed like a hungry lioness' at the Lord-King. "Au contraire, my King – I believe soon you will discover that I cannot wait to serve my duty as your Queen and wife."

The Lord-King groaned internally. "You will be the death of me, woman," he croaked, and Emily grinned impishly at him.

"And what a glorious death it will be."

* * *

The royal wedding had come.

All of the Thunderfrost kingdom cheered and celebrated, bustling into the castle grounds and crowding its reachable windows for a glimpse of the royal couple as they stood before the entire court of guests. The blushing bride was a sight to behold as she walked down the red carpeted aisle; white and gold and gleaming silver upon her wedding dress that fit the Lady Fairschilde like a dream. The Heir Queen Arwen walked before her, scattering the floor in pretty little flowers and the Crown Prince Jackesyn proudly held the royal rings in front of his sister.

Emily walked slowly and precisely towards her awaiting groom, smiling shyly at the Lord-King from beneath her veil when his eyes lit up at the sight of her. Her dress was modest enough; high collared white lace and golden yellow trimmings that became her as Jennifer and Penelope followed behind her with her train. Lord-King Aêron looked impossibly dashing in his royal garb – he too donned the marital colors of white and gold; off-gold breeches and a crisp white tunic, laced in golden yellow before draping a frost-furred wolf skin cloak upon his broad shoulders.

It was his first kill as Boy King.

On her head was a wreath of white and green – lilies were her favorite flower. On his head was the royal crown of Frost and Steel; bright and gleaming and impressively bejeweled.

At his feet, Emily nodded her head in a low bow, unable to help the smile on her face when she saw the Lord-King's boots appear in front of her, and dragging her eyes up along his body, saw his hazel eyes gleaming at her. Their eyes met, and her smile widened.

"My King," she murmured to him quietly, lowering her head as he reached up to unravel her veil and reveal her face.

Aêron's breath hitched in his chest when he revealed his radiant bride, stroking Emily's fair cheek with the back of his hand as he stared down at her softly. "Aêron," he whispered to her, and held his arm out to be held. "From this day, you call me Aêron."

Emily's eyes gleamed. "Aêron," she said, and the name sat comfortably on her tongue.

It was a name she was meant to speak.

The Lord-King's eyes crinkled as her hand wrapped around his arm, and tucking it closely to his side, he led his beautiful bride to stand before their guests and the magister.

With a calm wave of his hand, the magister began the ceremony; his clear voice carrying easily throughout the large hall. "Aêron Thunderfrost; Lord-King of the Five Realms, Champion of the Tyrant's fall, you stand today under witness of the Fallen Gods to be joined to this woman in soul and matrimony."

Aêron nodded his head, his response unhesitating and sure. "I do."

"You swear on the throne and the blood of your Fallen Gods to honor your bride -," the magister waved his staff over Emily's slightly bowed head. "Cherish your Queen and do the duty that is yours to your kingdom?" The old man stared down at Aêron's face calmly, a steely gaze unwavering upon the Lord-King's face as he waited for the answer. He knew what it was, of course – everyone in the whole kingdom knew of the Lord-King's unrelenting loyalty to the Lady.

"I do," the Lord-King said.

"Do you swear upon your throne and Crown to rule the land with your bride as fairly and peacefully as you have already, and to honor your duty as Lord-King to your lineage?"

He just wanted the Lord-King to say it aloud for once.

Aêron did not disappoint. "I do so solemnly swear that I, Aêron Thunderfrost, Lord-King of All, shall honor and cherish my bride and Queen. I vow to lead my kingdom and all five realms with peace, fairness and strength with my Queen by my side. I vow honor my duty as Lord-King to my lineage...that which I am to bring forth heirs of abundance to my name and throne." His voice resonated through the hall, and their wedding guests rose in a cheer of exultation. "This, I solemnly swear."

The magister beamed at the Lord-King, and from his magical staff a golden tendril weaved its way around Aêron's wrist, glittering translucently. Once it settled like a warm, tingling bracelet around the Lord-King's wrist, the magister set his sights on the curiously watching bride. "Emilynne Prentiss," he announced suddenly, smiling gently at the woman when she jumped at her name.

"Emilynne Prentiss; Lady Fairschilde of the House Prentiss, heir to your father's name, you stand here before the eyes of the Fallen Gods and give vow to join with this man in soul and matrimony."

Emily blinked for a moment, having been distracted by Aêron's vow of producing heirs in abundance. Her cheeks were aflame as she nodded her head regally. "I do."

"In doing so, you now pledge your loyalty and faith upon the throne; vow to honor and rule the Crown and kingdom with fairness and wisdom that which has been bestowed upon you by the Fallen Gods and They Who Wish It Be?"

The Lady glanced off at her groom beside her, catching his eye for the briefest of moment, but it spoke volumes between them. "I do so solemnly swear," she repeated, as per the wedding custom dictated, her eyes never leaving Aêron's. "I, Emilynne Prentiss, Fairschilde of House Prentiss and heir to my father's name, pledge my loyalty and faith in the Thunderfrost throne. I vow to honor my King and my Crown, and to rule the kingdom with fairness and wisdom from my King's side. I vow to honor my King and my duty as Queen Consort…and I shall bring the heirs as that which has been expected of me."

Emily licked her lips, and finished her vow. "This, I solemnly swear."

In a calm rush, the golden tendril wrapped itself around her wrist as well, glowing brightly as it joined their hands in a translucent gleam, before fading away. This was part of the ceremony – this was the binding in matrimony that she and Aêron had vowed to each other. Slowly, Emily turned to him, and he to her, and together they shared a nervous, if giddy smile when the magister came upon them; a goblet in one hand and a very thin, sharp knife in the other.

"Your Grace," the magister said, calmly passing the goblet to Aêron. He waited patiently for the Lord-King to drink, then passing it to the soon-Queen Consort, watching as she drank carefully from the goblet. And then the magister held out his hand for the Lord-King's. Once Aêron had placed his hand in his upturned palm, the magister drew a single, swift drag of the knife's blade across his finger. "Repeat the words as you have known them," he instructed, and guided the Lord-King's hand to Emily's already-red lips.

Aêron slowly allowed the magister to trace his bleeding finger along Emily's lips, simultaneously amazed by the softness of her lips and disgusted by this age-old practice. The binding was permanent, it lasted a lifetime and was never to be broken except by death, and Aêron found a part of himself hating that he had to put Emily through it. Nevertheless, the Lord-King licked his lips and spoke the words he'd spoken only once before. "By blood of my blood; by witness to the Fallen Gods, I seal your lips to be mine, and mine alone. This I vow."

The smell of his blood on her lips was strangely appealing as Emily took in a breath; sharp, rusted and fresh, the Lady had to physically refrain from licking her lips. This was the last and final step of their joining ritual – at least, for the day. The night was a whole other battlefield.

The magister waved his staff around the dark-haired pair. "Seal your vow and wed your wife, O Great King."

And so he kissed her, and Emily thought she was about to faint again from the lightheaded giddiness his lips brought forth. She smothered a moan in her throat when his tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip, and bringing between them the rusted taint of his blood on her lips.

When he pulled back, it was all she could do not to follow after him, but Lady Emily – _Queen _Emily – found her restraint just in time to see the magister holding aloft reverently the royal crown of the Queen. It was her crown now.

"With this crown, I now dub thee Emilynne Prentiss-Fairschilde; _Queen Consort _to the Lord-King Aêron Thunderfrost."

Emily bowed to the magister as he crowned her to adoring cheers and jovial cries, smiling as Arwen and Jack unabashedly screamed their happiness amidst the crowd. When she turned back to Aêron, she realized it was the first time she would look upon him as her husband and lover.

Aêron bowed his head to her, grinning. "My Queen," he uttered, before he stepped to her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"My Emily," he whispered, and his mouth was a blaze against hers once more.


	5. Matters V

They feasted gloriously that night; wine and roast and various meats and fruits and cheese in between. The atmosphere of the dining hall was hazy at best; filled with uproarious laughter and talk, the air above their tables leaking tendrils of smoke and wisp from the night air. Musicians played their merry tunes, barmaids danced a jig with a soused companion or two between the narrow spaces of the tables, and many a barrel of ale was drunk that night. Loud calls of cheers to the royal couple rang through the air every so often, and would always be smilingly reciprocated by the royal table overlooking the feast.

Placed a level above the rest, the royal table sat eight – the Lord-King upon his high-backed chair, the newly crowned Queen Consort to his left and his children to his right. At the end of the table, beside the Crown Prince, was Mage Reid, performing a myriad of tricks and magic much to the delight and entertainment of the royal children. Queen Emily's side sat her ladies-in-waiting, and at the end sat Captain Morgan, who Aêron noticed seemed more than content to entertain the ever-bubbly (and perhaps slightly inebriated) Lady Penelope.

When Penelope burst into shrill, girlish giggles, Emily smiled wryly and leaned to her new husband, finding his hand beneath the table as easily as a bat moved through the night. "I lost count after she took the fourth cup of wine from the maids," she told the Lord-King quietly, amusement sparkling in her eyes as Aêron grinned back at her. Throughout the day, and now throughout the feast, Emily had begun to find it incredibly distracting to meet her King's eye; every time his dark eyes bore into hers, she would see the dark lust swirling in its depths.

It promised her many things – things even thinking of for a glimmer of a second had her skin flushed and her loins uncomfortably hot. Emily shifted in her seat and felt the now-ever-present twitch low in her stomach. It was not unlike the burning between her legs, but…deeper; more primal.

But that was a thought for the end of their night. The moon had but only just taken its place in the sky, and the very last of their wedding traditions had yet to be completed.

Aêron chuckled deep in his chest, raising his own cup of wine to his mouth and taking a generous sip. The buzz was a pleasant bolster to his already buoyant mood; it loosened his inhibitions and granted the Lord-King the courage to steal his bride's upturned lips in a brief but sweltering kiss. It was as if he couldn't get enough of her lips; their shape, their taste, their soft firmness against his thinner, persistent lips.

When he pulled back to stare at her startled but pleased face, he winked at her. "It's a night to celebrate, Emily-mine," he reminded her, showing the Queen Consort a rare display of his dashing pair of dimples. Though his cheeks were perhaps stained with a touch of color from his drink, the Lord-King's eyes were clear as stars, and staring lovingly down at the woman he'd been married to all three hours. "You have made a broken man whole, a kingdom overflow with joy, and a pair of children the happiest they can be."

He reached up with his left hand, the ring glinting in the light as he cupped Emily's cheek and stroked his thumb over her high cheekbone. "You, my dear wife, you have brought back a joy this kingdom had long forgotten." His voice was intimately low in her ear, rumbling and soft and honest as ever, and Emily blinked hard to smother the well of tears at her husband's words.

Emily blushed prettily under the dim yellow light of the many candles adorning the hall, but was denied the chance to reply when the magister stood from the closest table to Aêron's side of the table, and banged his staff upon the floor, effectively calling the rest of the dining hall to attention.

"The final ceremony has reached its time of presentation," the older man announced, waving his hand towards the royal couple. "But before the Lord-King and Queen Consort may continue, it has been requested by the royal children that the giving of gifts commence first." He smiled dryly at the giddy pair, rolling his eyes fondly when Jack bounced eagerly in his seat. "Needless to say, they wish it be their gift first."

The hall erupted in merry laughter, and the hall doors opened to reveal Aêron's charger and Emily's mare being led in by their stable hands. Aêron and Emily shared a confused look before watching Arwen rise from her seat, clearing her throat quietly. When she spoke, she did her father proud as she spoke in a calm, clear, carrying voice.

"This gift is a little more inclined to Father, I'll admit, but it works to your benefit as well, Queen Emily," Arwen began, smiling somewhat sheepishly when Emily turned her curious, if suspicious gaze to the Lord-King. "A while ago, before you were to be wed, Papa had ah…expressed his displeasure with your nightly wanderings alone. Many times he would fuss and grumble and huff, claiming that it was your intention to infuriate and worry him on purpose. Clearly we know you would never do such things," she added swiftly when Emily began to sputter quietly.

Licking her lips and grinning, Arwen motioned to the couple's horses, where the stable hands lifted Bowen's leg and then Wynne's to reveal a peculiarly gleaming horseshoe. "To soothe your worries, Father, Jack and I have taken the liberty of asking Mage Reid to create…um…." Suddenly the Heir Queen looked lost; eyes wide and uncertain as she wracked her brain to remember just what the apprentice had called these new shoes.

Helpfully, Mage Reid leaned over the dining table, whispering gently to her, "Tracking shoes!"

"Tracking shoes!" the Heir Queen repeated proudly, though her cheeks had begun to grow pink. "Yes, we had Mage Reid create tracking shoes for your horses. That way, if either of you were to stray somewhere beyond our borders, or if Papa cannot find you, we can find your horses!" She seemed so pleased with herself – all three of them did -, that Aêron and Emily could not find the heart to chide them for exposing their personal concerns in front of amused guests.

The Lord-King nodded his head to his daughter, smiling proudly at Arwen until the girl returned it with her own relieved, beaming grin. "That is a kind thought, Heir Queen. I believe I can speak for myself and the Queen both, when I say that we are duly impressed with Mage Reid's and your ingenuity." He smiled kindly when the gangly apprentice seemed to blush from his seat, sinking into it further. Aêron chuckled, kissing Arwen lightly on the cheek and ruffling Jack's hair before the horses were led away.

"How ingenious," Emily murmured from his side, voice laced with amusement. "What better way to keep your Queen within sight at all times but to symbolically bind her to a leash."

Aêron glanced at his bride, eyebrow arched as he searched her face for any form of indignation or displeasure; finding only amusement and good-humor on her pretty face. "You have only yourself to blame," he reminded her calmly, smirking when she rolled her eyes at him. "Riding out in a thunderstorm of all nights, and when just that morning there had been a threat to your safety from beyond our borders." Aêron huffed, recalling the amount of sheer panic and fear in his chest when he'd marched into Emily's bedchambers and then the stable to find her horse's stall just as empty as her chambers had been.

"They might as well," he said then, sipping his wine casually. "If they hadn't, I would've found a way to bind you to my hip regardless. At least then you wouldn't be able to slip from my grasp again."

As if the magical bindings that still tingled faintly on their wrists weren't enough; Aêron wanted to know where Emily was at all times, with whom and what was she doing. Now that they were wed, his concern and perhaps a slight touch of overprotectiveness would be justified. No longer did he have to create excuses for the additional guards and security around the Lady Fairschilde – he would simply be committing to his duty as her husband and Lord-King.

…and he would then be allowed to punish her accordingly when she defied him…in the privacy of their bedchambers, of course.

Emily made a show of rubbing at her wrist, glancing pointedly at the Lord-King before smiling beautifully at a wedding guest who'd come to offer his gifts. Her red lips were split into a beguiling smile; she almost thought she could still taste his blood on her lips, but they barely moved as she uttered these next words to him. "You underestimate how flexible I can be then, husband-mine. But I suppose we will rectify this before the end of the night."

Biting down hard enough for his jaw to click and his teeth to ache, Aêron brought his chalice to his lips, and downed the rest of his wine.

He would need something to keep his strength (and his willpower) through the night.

* * *

More gifts were given to the newlyweds; small and large, extravagant and simple – all presented with congratulations and admiration of the handsome couple. The Queen Consort had taken a particularly eager delight in a gift taken from the deep Amazons – a large, jet black panther, given as a token to the Lord-King's royal sigil. The daunting feline was regal in every sense of the word, seeping a bored sort of haughtiness managed only by felines. Sleek black and perhaps a touch larger than the Lord-King was used to, the Queen Consort all but squealed into his ear when the beast's leash was presented to her.

"To keep the King at hand when the true one is away," they told her, and Emily thanked their guests profusely, stroking the purring panther's large head.

"He will be a much cherished companion," she assured them, fascination and gratitude in her voice as the panther laid its head in her lap and rumbled a loud, contented purr. Emily giggled at the wary glance Aêron cast at it, but it paid him no mind as Emily's slender fingers massaged the back of its ear. "I think I'll name you Sergio," she cooed at it, and the panther seemed to smile on its feral face.

Aêron eyed it warily still, but managed a gracious smile and nod of thanks to his guest. "He is a strong and fine creature – a perfect representation of our house sigil." And then the Lord-King shot Emily a look and murmured from the corner of his mouth, "He is not sleeping in our chambers with us."

The Queen Consort huffed at him, pouting. "Curmudgeon," she spat at him, but the Lord-King merely smiled at the lack of acidity in her tone. The feline beside her lifted its glowing yellow eyes at him though, as if sensing his new mistress' displeasure, and growled at the man in its throat.

"Nice kitty," Aêron soothed it quickly, leaning away as Sergio moved onto his feet and seemed just about ready to pounce. Sergio had no intentions to, however, and merely seemed content with frightening the Lord-King before snorting at him and settling back at Emily's side once more. Aêron scowled at the panther, shaking his head and glaring when Emily tittered behind her wine cup. "He's _still _not sleeping in our chambers," he grumbled. "He's barely been in our possession an hour and already he threatens to banish me from my marriage bed."

Emily rolled her eyes at her husband, nodding her head and smiling wryly at his petulant profile. "If it soothes my King, he shall sleep in my chambers," she uttered plainly, though her mouth twitched into a smirk. "Then I may have Kings in both my beds."

"One King will suffice, I assure you," he growled, and very suddenly the dinner seemed to be taking much too long for the Lord-King's patience.

Just then, there was a loud thudding upon the stone floor, and both Aêron and Emily shared a look. It was time for the final ceremony of the night. The Lord-King's hand curled into a tight grip of his chair's arm, so hard the wood beneath his fingers creaked, but he needed to gather his strength for what he was about to do to Emily.

Things he would do in front of nearly two hundred guests and people of his kingdom.

The magister stood, gesturing for them to do the same, and addressed the court with a wide smile. "And now, before we retire them to their wedding bed; the garter shall be removed."

In a huge, deafening roar of boisterous cheers, the guests scrambled and rushed to make room in the very middle of the hall before rushing towards the royal table. Emily and Aêron were lifted onto shoulders, despite the sputtering protests of the pair, and led towards the empty dining table in the middle. Aêron stumbled onto his feet as they placed him onto the bench, slumping down hard onto the seat when uncountable hands shoved at his shoulders to sit.

He winced as his bottom met the wooden bench harshly, but barely had time to react when Emily was placed onto the table in front of him. She squeaked as she fell backwards on the table, bracing herself on her hands as her legs fell on either side of the seated (and stunned speechless) Lord-King, her dress billowing in the breeze before settling over the table and his lap. They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes wide and cheeks aflame as the crowd calmed into a restless silence.

"Go on then!" a voice cried from the crowd. "Git un'er there an' git yer lovey's pretty laces!"

The magister hushed the man, who offered his profuse apologies before smiling somewhat mischievously at Aêron. "But do in fact, acquire Queen Emily's garter quickly, and we shall end the feast," he encouraged the man, knowing full well that Emily had not been prepared for this moment quite well enough, and they were both dying to be left in their solitude.

Aêron sucked in a sharp breath, hazel eyes darting down to the splay of material in front of him before rising up slowly along Emily's body. When they came upon her face, the Lord-King found the Queen Consort biting the corner of her lip nervously. He arched an eyebrow at her; only a twitch, only something Emily can read, and it was a moment before the Queen gave a quiet nod.

Exhaling heavily, calmingly, Aêron tentatively slid his hands beneath her skirt.

Her skin was softer than he could possibly imagine. Softer than anything he'd ever laid his hands upon, and silkier than the finest silks he'd felt from the Far East. His broad hands spanned the luscious flesh, the callused pads stroking the skin of her inner thighs in small, gentle circles that he knew from the look on Emily's face was just as – or perhaps even more – distracting to her as it was him.

Emily's breath hitched in the tight confines of her chest; she wasn't sure if her inhumanely tight corset was to blame…or perhaps the pair of battle-roughened, large hands of her King that were sliding deliciously higher on her thighs.

And still it moved higher….

Higher still….

_Oh._

Their eyes snapped to each other's when the barest tip of his fingers grazed the flimsy material that was wrapped snugly around her slender (and he was sure it was porcelain like the rest of her) thigh. They held their gaze for a long, unmoving moment; speaking in ways that they had always been able to with their eyes, and with a final, slow brush of his fingers, Aêron grasped the garter.

Unlike the tradition commonly practiced by the commonwealth – which most often left the bride in shredded rags by this point -, Aêron slid his fingers beneath the bare scrap of lace around her thigh with slow, teasingly sensual precision. Very slowly he curled his fingers onto it, callused pads of his fingers sending shivers down the Queen's spine as he slid the garment torturously slow down her body. Each deliberate centimeter it lowered down her leg wrought shivers down Emily's spine, and the Queen very nearly hiked her dress skirt higher to finish the deed herself –

Her loins were _burning_ unholy fire.

Finally, _finally_, Aêron carefully slid the garter over her flats, one hand coming to grasp her slender calf before pulling the garter free. Even as he held it aloft to the loud cheers of the guests, his hand lingered possessively on her leg, soft skin on rough pads, and his eyes dark upon her face.

Emily swallowed the thickness in her throat, but her voice was no more than a husky whisper when she spoke. "Ever the man of precision, my King," she rasped at him, and she watched with hooded eyes as Aêron moved instead of tossing her garter to their eagerly awaiting guests (as per tradition), but to very calmly tuck the lacey garment into the narrow pocket of his breeches.

The magister was both parts amused and confused. "These are not the rules of the game, my King," he said.

Aêron's expression was thunderously dark. "Do I look to be in a gaming mood to you," he growled, and with a dark, challenging glare at the crowd, found no man nearly stupid enough to try to defy him. And later on, when the night was over and they could speak to each other without an audience, he would tell her it was the wine that spurred his courage, but now the Lord-King moved towards her not unlike the slinking of a feral feline.

In a rush, the Queen Consort found herself lifted into his arms, swept breathless as he tucked her tight to his chest; pure male dominance radiating off him so much so that Emily had very nearly thought to swoon.

For when she stared up at her husband's eyes, she could very clearly see his intentions gleaming in those dark whirls of hazel that were his eyes.

The guests' feast had ended.

Theirs had only just begun.

* * *

The doors of the royal bedchamber opened in a rush, creaking noisily as the Lord-King marched through its doorway with his bride firmly in his arms. Behind them the noise and chatter from the dining hall was but a faint murmur; the chamber doors were slammed shut impatiently by the Lord-King's foot before he strode towards the bed purposefully. Very gently he lowered Emily onto the bed, brushing down her dress as he stared down at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry if I was too rough," he uttered contritely, seeing as his bride had yet to cease staring at him like a terrified doe. Frowning at himself, Aêron lowered himself onto a knee before her, clasping Emily's hands in his as he peered up at her face worriedly. "Did I frighten you, my Queen?"

Emily eyed the Lord-King uncertainly, her stomach churning with equal parts excitement, anxiety and lust. "You did not frighten me, Aêron," she murmured to him quietly, and though she did genuinely speak those words, Aêron found it difficult to believe them, given the waver in her voice. "I was merely startled."

But Emily was more afraid of another thought.

It wasn't as if she'd never set foot within the Lord-King's bedchambers before – if she recalled accurately, there was that one absolutely scandalous night they'd fallen asleep in his bed after a long and arduous night of terrors and unshakable fears. They'd spent the night talking, confessing things in the dead of night, with only the dogs resting at the foot of the bed and each other as company.

The former Lady-now-Queen had woken too comfortably safe and warm – and unexpectedly aroused…in the arms of the Lord-King. She'd fled the room before Aêron had woken, and had released her frustrations with her ever-willing Jennifer, but what Emily hadn't realized was that the hazel eyed Lord-King _had _been awake, and was simply reveling in the soft press of curves against his body.

But this time was completely and utterly different.

This time she would lie in his bed as his wife; as his Queen –

- as his lover.

Emily couldn't help the startled yelp as a large, warm hand came to cup her cheek, and the Queen came from her reverie to where Aêron was peering at her with a mildly worried curiosity.

"My Queen?" he asked her; low voice gentle. "You must be tired, Emily. It has been a long night," he told her, mistaking her distractedness for reluctance, and Emily knew what it was that he meant.

The Queen shook her head, smiling quietly at her husband before tugging at his hand, pulling him to his feet until he stood before her and she sat upon their bed. "Not tired, Your Grace; merely recollecting a memory," she assured him, and then Emily raised an eyebrow smilingly at Aêron. "I did not wed myself, Aêron. This ceremony took two to complete, and took its toll on two as well."

"_You _must be terribly worn," she said then, and her hands began to move at their own volition towards the clasp of his breeches. Her eyes stared down at her trembling fingers as they unclasped the leather belt, sliding the buckle away slowly and brushing the prominent bulge there in a feather-light caress. Her tongue darted from her mouth to lick the dry corner of her lips, and Emily raised her gaze up to the Lord-King's face, and suddenly the Queen found her mind devoid of thought, and her chest stiflingly tight.

His eyes were dark, black pools of feral lust; hard and frighteningly stern as he stared down at her with terrifying intensity.

Aêron's voice was a rasp of a growl; it startled and aroused the Queen at an alarming rate.

"_I am never too tired to please you, Emily."_

Emily squeaked as Aêron came upon her suddenly, crushing his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss; hard, rough and possessive as his hands found her hips and pulled her flush against his body. A moan vibrated through her chest as his large hands slid behind her, cupping her buttocks through her dress and tugging impatiently at the lacing of her dress skirt. There was a very harsh tension in the strings, and Emily yelped when there was a loud rip, and she felt her skirt give way.

She pulled her lips from Aêron's gasping for breath as she stared into his gleaming black eyes, but their gaze was fleeting before the Lord-King dropped his hungry mouth to the elegant column of her neck. Emily's eyes rolled into the back of her head as his mouth burned molten heat against her skin, suckling hard at the delicious flesh and marking her for his own. Her hands clawed at his back, pulling her lover impossibly closer and gasping when the hardened bulge of his manhood pressed against her core through his breeches.

Oh, he was a large one.

His breath was hot and damp at her ear; Emily shuddered with a violent pleasure as he hissed breathlessly there. "You are a taste more divine than I could imagine, sweet Queen; so soft, so yielding to my whims – so sweet on my tongue." He sighed heavily, hips pressing and grinding impatiently against her thin underthings; he could feel her wetness burning through the meager cloth already. "Having you will be the most delicious of tortures."

"And I do not intend on taking you only once," he snarled.

Emily cried out suddenly when his hand curled into her dark hair, her back arching against him as he tugged hard enough to sting. His teeth pressed against the base of her neck, a most desirable hurt, and Emily gave a keening moan before his hands found her corset as they had once before. With a harsh jerk of his muscular arms, the restricting garment fell apart like paper from her body, and Aêron growled in delight when it finally revealed his wife's gorgeously pale body to him.

She was more beautiful than he could have imagined. Endless smooth, porcelain skin, untouched by the kisses of the ever-fire in the sky; all that perfect skin was his to love and stroke and kiss and claim – all undone by any other man before him.

Aêron's eyes flashed as he cupped her generous, creamy breasts in his large hands, stroking the rosy nipples with his thumb reverently. "You are the most flawless vision my eyes have ever rested upon," he breathed, taking in the heated flush of Emily's heaving chest; the glowing tint of her cheeks and body that seemed to respond to the slightest of touches from his hands.

The fire burning between her legs was beginning to consume her, and Emily grabbed his hand desperately, molding it against her breast before she fisted the front of his white tunic and pulled him to her. "You will have time to speak such flattery to me later, Aêron," she panted, and was utterly remorseless when she grabbed his tunic in both hands and ripped the shirt away from his body. Her eyes widened and blackened with lust when it revealed a remarkably firm and impressive chest. "Tonight I want your mouth busy with something other than words."

The Lord-King growled his eager assent, smirking when Emily shoved the remnants of his mangled tunic down his muscular arms and stared at his exposed chest with unabashed hunger. His smirk merely widened when her eyes dropped down to the straining bulge in his breeches, and Aêron teasingly slipped his hand between the parted seams of his breeches when Emily licked her lips. "I've been aching to touch you since the morning," he rumbled at her, low and sultry as he slowly slipped his breeches off his narrow hips.

Emily's hands found their way there too; guiding the breeches the rest of the way until they pooled at Aêron's feet and finally revealed his straining member. "Oh." It came from her mouth in a breathless whisper Emily hadn't even realized she'd spoken until she heard Aêron chuckle quietly, but her eyes could not be torn from the impressive length before her. True, it'd been years since she'd been intimate with a man – Jennifer had always been more than sufficient (perhaps even more so) in satisfying her needs more than any man could -, but she was fairly certain that they weren't all nearly as…well-endowed as the Lord-King.

"Does it frighten you?" His voice was a lilting tease, amusement and lust glittering in his eyes as Emily brought her eyes up to his face with a mild glare. His chuckle was disrupted abruptly when Emily's slender hand wrapped around his manhood, and the Lord-King could do nothing but screw his eyes shut tight and grit his teeth. He was at Emily's mercy now; the meticulous stroke of her hand over the entire length, as if gauging his size and girth.

He chuffed at her then, smiling teasingly at her when Emily looked up at his face. "I am not an experiment to be observed, Your Highness."

Emily bit her lip, her hand squeezing instinctively that had the Lord-King swearing under his breath. "It's just so…large," she marveled, and Aêron nearly laughed.

"It is what it is," he told her simply, and calmly removed her grip from his length. Gently now he pressed a hand to her shoulder, guiding her backwards onto their sprawling bed, crawling over her body like a predatory feline before capturing her red lips in a searing kiss. Pressed skin to skin; heat to heat, the royal couple could not smother the groans of pleasure in their throats, as Aêron settled himself into the cradle of her hips.

Pulling back from their kiss with nothing short of extreme effort, Aêron stared down at his beautiful bride, gazing in awe at the sheer perfection that was Emily's heat-flushed skin and lust-darkened eyes staring back at him. His heart swelled in his chest as he stroked her face tenderly, smiling when Emily blushed at his touch and looked away in girlish embarrassment – even in the heat of their passion, he could reduce her to a blushing maiden with a mere look.

"I was a fool to have kept my affections from you," he whispered quietly, lovingly before he dropped a soft, tender kiss on her smiling lips. His hand moved down her body, stroking the skin, palming her breast and sliding in ticklish whispers down her stomach before his palm came to cup the soft curls between her thighs.

It happened suddenly – against her will and before she could smother the rising fear and panic in her chest at the contact of his hand pressed so intimately against her core, but the memories assaulted her with a vengeance. And with the memories came the blinding fear…

"_It won't hurt, Em. I promise. You like me, don't you? You said you'd do what I wanted. You're not a liar, are you, Emily? Because I don't make friends with liars, you know."_

The disgraced realization…

"_You're what?! You can't be – you – said -. It's not mine! It can't be mine! You been whoring yourself to them boys at the stables, haven't you?"_

In a rush, Emily braced her hand against Aêron's chest, and was shoving the Lord-King away with a terrified "No!" The Queen gasped in fright as Aêron stumbled backwards, nearly falling off the bed entirely before she bundled the covers around her naked body. "I'm sorry!" she stuttered, reaching out for her husband before hesitating. Emily bit her lip hard, hand faltering mid-air before she pulled it back to her chest, and used it instead to pin the furs to her chest. "I'm sorry, Aêron – I was – I was – I didn't mean to -."

Dazed, Aêron struggled upright, brow pinched in confusion as he rushed to reassure Emily. "I'm fine, Emily. No damage done," he told her, and instead reached out to stroke her arm. The man was surprised though when Emily flinched away from his touch – had he done something wrong?

"Darling, did I hurt you?" he asked anxiously, pulse pounding in his neck at the thought of hurting Emily.

Emily swallowed, shaking her head at Aêron, but the anxiety grew heavier in her stomach. She was torn – so painfully torn – between submitting to her fears and trepidations, or to drown herself in the male glory that was her new husband. Oh, how she wished she could drown in Aêron so – to surround herself in him and only him, and forget her past and her demons and to live her new life clean and untouched.

But wishing hardly made it so.

The Queen diverted her attention to the rings on his finger and hers, rising to her knees before him to remove the bands from both their fingers, but her hands had begun to shake too much for her to focus, and Aêron stilled her hand with his own. When Emily looked up again, his eyes were gentle; concerned. All he could focus on now was the apprehension and fear in his new bride's face. "What steals your thoughts from me on our wedding night, my Queen? What thoughts rob me of my dearest Heart?"

So earnestly did he speak the words that Emily's eyes began to burn, and it only served to alarm the Lord-King further.

"Emily -." He grasped her arm gently, worriedly.

"You'll hate me," she blurted, struggling to quell the lump in her throat. She failed, and her words came strained and choked. "You'll hate me now, and you'll wish you had never thought to propose for me to wed you after you know the truth."

He would never forgive her for what had happened; never look upon her face with anything short of disgust and contempt. Gods – _she _couldn't stand to look herself in the mirror long, for every moment she stared into her own face, she would see it all happen all over again. Every moment of pain, every moment of shame and despair and grief that Emily had long struggled to bury. She would feel it all again.

A sob ripped from her throat at the thought – by the Fallen Gods, why, oh why had she been so _stupid_?

Aêron stared at the woman before him incredulously, his brows finding each other in confusion and unease as he grasped Emily's arms in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze again. "Emily, I could never hate you," he swore to her, wiping away her tears despite her vehemently shaking head. "I've already spoken this to you, Emily – no one could possibly hate you, darling, and certainly not me!" He searched her miserable, guilt-ridden dark eyes desperately; searching for a reason behind her tears and her sadness.

Emily shook her head still, sniffling weakly. "You can," she whispered brokenly. "You can, and you will." _You'll hate me and you'll hate what I've done – what I may not give to you._

Tentatively he reached to her again, and Aêron was relieved when Emily did not resist his touch now as he guided his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his bare chest gently. Aêron rubbed her back and arms soothingly as Emily pressed her face into his neck, sniffling dolefully into his skin.

Having her in such close quarters once more brought memories of That Night rushing back to Aêron, but he shook his head firmly to rid himself of the lavender scent tickling his nose and hummed at his saddened wife. "Oh, Em," he sighed, pulling back to stare down at his wife's tearstained face. His heart ached for her, as it always did when she was upset and he could do nothing to make it better.

He cupped her cheek tenderly; thumb stroking her damp skin as her lower lip trembled dismally. "Emily, I've spent years pining for a love I was too much of a coward to confess I felt for you. I've been lying to myself, convincing my lovesick heart that being your friend and confidant, and having you in my life was enough of a blessing to soothe it." His confession had stunned Emily's tears into ceasing, and she gaped at him wordlessly as his hand massaged its way down her neck.

"Now that I have you here, with me, I will see myself damned and skinned alive before I do anything to turn you away from my arms," he professed passionately, and his fingers traced along her chin as he gazed down at her encouragingly. "Now please, my love; tell me what troubles you so."

Emily was silent for a long moment, staring at his chest; the scars that she'd help heal – the scars that gave her the strength and hope to speak now. "It was a secret I vowed to keep to the end of my life," she whispered; her voice hoarse from her weeping. "But now I fear it best to confide in you, my – _Aêron_ - of my past." She took in a shaky breath, hoping to steady her pounding heart and shaking nerves, and Emily found Aêron's warm hand on her skin a much needed anchor.

"It was before I'd come to your kingdom – long before, actually. It was a mistake I'd made, but I was but a girl; young and naïve and careless in my ways."

Aêron listened, quiet and unassuming, but the weight of her words did not slip past the Lord-King. "You've been with a man before," he concluded quietly.

His Queen inhaled sharply, but tilted her head at him slightly. "A boy," she corrected him, ashamed. "It was a fool mistake and it burned for days, and even after it...left a more permanent effect."

The Lord-King stared at Emily for a moment, confused, before his eyes widened and his jaw slackened. "You – you had a child?" His mind reeled at this – where was this child now? What had happened to it? Had it been killed with the rest of her family in the Prentiss massacre?

Tears sprung anew, burning as hot as the guilt that flared in her chest. "It never lived long enough to breathe," she whispered, and her tears bled onto Aêron's bare shoulder; so hot he thought it would scald. "I was beaten within an inch of my life when the boy discovered the truth. If - if one of my father's stable boys hadn't come when he had…I would have been dead with my child long before the massacre of my family."

Bile rose in Aêron's throat, hot, bitter and thick as he stared at Emily with a horror and disbelief. He couldn't understand how anyone could have possibly laid a hand on her – he blanched at the image of a young Emily; sweet, innocent and untouched Emily, being brutally beaten, kicked and tortured in ways that made his stomach roil in disgust. What soulless creature would dare scorn the most selfless person he knew?

It was only by the blurring of his vision that Aêron realized that he was crying. If it were any other moment – if it were in front of any other person but Emily – maybe Aêron would have cared. He was the Lord-King, and Lord-Kings did not weep openly, but damn his title, damn his obligations to the throne – damn it all.

Emily was his priority – always and forever.

"Oh, Em," he whispered, choking on even these short syllables before Aêron reached over and crushed his Queen to his chest, hugging her tight, holding her safe as he buried his face into her sweet-scented hair and let his tears burn trails down his face. "I'm so sorry, Emily. I'm so, so very sorry. It should not have happened to you – it should not have ever happened to you or your child." He sniffled, taking a deep breath of the lavender in her hair and puffing a hot breath against her bare shoulders. "I'm so sorry."

Emily's hands clung to his broad shoulders, seeking the warmth and strength and comfort she had always found in his presence; reveling in the way his body covered hers so perfectly as she blinked away more of her tears. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Aêron," she told him, and she pulled away from his neck to stare up at his face. "It was before our time, and before I'd come to your kingdom. I just…wanted you to know my past at my own choice."

"You are so brave, Emily. Braver than I can ever hope to be," he murmured to her now, his voice reverent, but Emily gave him a disparaging smile and shook her head.

It was her turn now; she wiped the tears from his handsome face, wiped the heartbroken look from his eyes and pressed a long, emotional kiss to his quivering lips.

"I'll kill him," she felt him growl against her lips. "I'll find that beast who dared touch you, and I'll rip him limb from limb and feed them to Sergio." He could swear it to the Fallen Gods – he could swear it as a tribute to them, and he would do so gladly. He, a man many found blasphemously unreligious, would pray to the Gods.

All of this, he would do for Emily. All this, he would do for his Queen.

His proclamation brought warmth to Emily's chest and a small smile to her lips as she stroked her husband's cheek and shook her head at him. "It's been a long time, Aêron," she sighed wearily. "I've done my best to put it behind me. I…I wanted to tell you because I was afraid you would no longer want me if you knew what I had lost." She bit her lip then, hard enough to bleed as she fought the urge to cry yet again. This was her wedding night, by the Gods! She wasn't supposed to be _crying _over a smothered memory.

Aêron stared at her as if she'd grown another head, but said nothing for a long moment, until the man gently guided her hand to his chest – to his scars. If he couldn't find the brute that'd beat her, he would certainly ensure that his wife knew that he held no grudge, no blame, and that he – he of all people – understood.

"I too bear the scars of my past," he reminded her slowly. "You've seen them. You know how much I hate them, and the person who did it to me, but I cannot change it. I cannot change my past, and so I accept it as what it is - a survived horror. You've been at the tail of Death's coat, Emily; you know as much as I that when we hung so delicately on that precipice of Life and Death, there were decisions we needed to make that would haunt us for the rest of our lives…."

He brushed his hand through her hair, and guided her mouth to his in a molten kiss. His breath was hot against her parted lips. "…but not tonight. And not another night after," he promised, and plundered forth.

And just like that, Emily found the courage to drown.

* * *

He laid her down upon their marriage bed again, pressed her porcelain skin into the mattress and worshipped as she had been born to be. His hands roamed every inch of her he could grasp; his fingers stroked and claimed every inch of silken skin laid bare beneath him. There would be no more speaking for now – no more words were to be spoken. All he wanted to hear was her body, and the secrets it could tell him about her.

Emily sighed as he settled between her legs once more, shifting her hips and accepting the Lord-King between the cradle of her hips as his length pressed against the damp heat of her center. She was no stranger to the frantic need for release, but the burn that Emily felt now was engulfing, and it made her impatient. "My King," she gasped, breathless as his mouth roved against her neck once more. Her fingers sank into the muscular flesh of his back, and Emily lifted her hips invitingly to the man hovering above her.

"Please," she whimpered; arching when the hot brand of his length brushed against her core. "I've waited too long, Aêron. _Please._"

Groaning against her neck, the Lord-King pulled back to stare down at her flushed face, lifting himself onto his hands. His eyes were gentle and uncertain, though his hips were already beginning to move carefully against her. "I don't want to hurt you, Emily," he murmured, neck taut and body tense as he began to slowly, tentatively guide himself into her warmth. His teeth were bared in a hiss at the tight heat that engulfed him; his body shook from the restraint he'd enforced when Emily gave a sharp gasp.

His eyes snapped open, hazel orbs boring into hers worriedly. "Emily, did I -?"

The Queen shook her head stubbornly, the pinch in her brow lingering even as she wrapped one arm around Aêron's tense shoulders and used it as leverage to guide him deeper inside her. A keening whimper tore from her throat as she felt him stretch her in ways she had forgotten, and her free hand pressed against his chest to cease his movements as the pain cut sharply through her. "A moment," she gasped, struggling to resist the urge to tighten around the Lord-King as he sank deeper even as he kept impressively still above her.

"Are you alright?" he whispered to her, fighting the instinct within him to surge forward and claim her; to plunge into her depths and never stop until her screams would echo off the walls of their bedchambers. When Emily gave him a short nod, Aêron wasn't sure he believed her, but the Queen did not grant him the opportunity to withdraw.

Presently she found her breath, and with a firm grasp of his pert buttock, Emily pulled him forward, crying out when he drove into her fully.

It was rapturous. It was the only word that could describe the feeling surrounding him then, and Aêron thought he saw stars flash under his eyelids as he pressed deeper inside his wife. His breath stuttered as he dropped his forehead down against Emily's, lips ghosting hers as he watched her face morph from a pained mask, and slowly into a pleasured one. "Emily?"

"I'm alright," she breathed, and widened her legs to help ease the pain. He was large, as she had expected, but Gods, she hadn't expected him to fill her so fully. There were places inside her she hadn't realized could be touched, but Aêron was touching them now, and she was getting dizzy at the sensations it drew from her.

And then he began to move.

"Aêron," she sighed, flexing her hips as he withdrew slowly and thrust forward in deep, precise movements. It hurt somewhat, but Emily braced the pain and waited as the heat of her own pleasure began to engulf her, and she felt the wetness surge between her legs. "Oh!" She wrapped both arms around his shoulders as he drove forward in a hard thrust, sinking her teeth into his collarbone.

The Lord-King snarled at the sensation, grinding his hips mercilessly now in a frantic rush for his release. Her hips began to rise up to meet his, and Aêron knew that whatever pain he had caused her, was now very quickly being replaced by a maddening pleasure. He rose up on his hands once more, melding his hips against her in a brutal thrust, and Emily outright screamed when his pelvic bone ground against the sensitive nerve that she knew to be the source of her own pleasure.

His pace was growing frantic; Emily knew she would need her own release to guarantee the conception of an heir, and so she reached out blindly, snatching his hand in hers. "Here," she panted, guiding his hand down between them where they joined, moaning a shuddering sob when his large fingers found the nerve. "Like this." She led his fingers in circles around the nerve, bucking against his hand as he quickly began understand her rhythm. Her hand dropped against the mattress limply as he stroked the nerve expertly now, feeling the familiar clench of heat in her chest as her climax drew dangerously near.

Aêron thought he was going mad. He couldn't get enough of her; he wanted to drown in her body, her sounds, her everything. The Lord-King began to roughen his thrusts, hips jerking erratically against the Lady-Queen's pliant body as he kept his hand firmly between them where she wanted it. He could feel his release boiling inside him, threatening to burst forth, threatening to burn through his skin. When Emily's thighs clamped tight around his hips, and her body tensed in shuddering waves around him, Aêron fell headfirst into the flames.

With a roar of triumph and relief, he slammed into her with a vicious strength, burying deep within her as his seed surged like damp flames inside her womb. He swallowed gasps of air as he felt her walls undulate against his length, coaxing the heat of his seed deeper inside her, and Aêron crumbled onto the bed beside his wife, panting heavily as he draped an arm around her heated body.

And as they lay there in their post-coital bliss and exhaustion, too tired to do much else than wrap themselves in each other's arms, both Aêron and Emily knew.

An heir had been conceived that night.


	6. Matters VI

**A giant fuck-you to the haters - LESBIANS.**

**yeah you know you think that's hawt.**

* * *

They made love more times through the night, and well into the early break of dawn. Sleep had been minimal, but just enough – Aêron had woken his bride with hungry kisses on her shoulder and eager hands slipping between her thighs. The man had delighted in the revelation of the sensitive nerve there, and took great pleasure in experimenting with his hands and mouth to gauge what would bring Emily into a shaking, sobbing heap in his arms.

Sometimes it was gentle, and loving; filled with nothing but breathless sighs and contented moaning. Other times it was hard and rough and desperate; all teeth and hands and screams as the Lord-King let loose the beast he kept so tightly chained inside him. It was harsh, it was brutal, it was bruising – but the Lady-Queen seemed to crave it from him; yearn it, demand it, _encouraged _it with her own bites and bruises.

She did not fear the monster inside him, but instead reveled in the possessive nature of his true being.

It made him love her all the more.

Emily was not one to sit idle either. The Lady-Queen had been equally driven to please her husband; hands and mouth and body teasing, testing - experimenting with her tongue and fingers in ways that drove the Lord-King to maddening heights. Already Aêron had broken a segment of their bedpost from the sheer strength of his grip against it when Emily had placed her mouth between his legs.

By the time anyone had come knocking at their chamber door, Aêron and Emily were sore, satisfied and scandalously positioned. The tentative knocking drew their attentions away from catching their breaths and gathering their sanity, and Emily sluggishly draped the furs over her damp body. She was filled almost crudely with the Lord-King's seed, hot and thick and plenty inside her from their endless lust for each other – there was no doubt in her mind that she would bear him an heir now.

They were not married for but a day.

Groaning under his breath, Aêron reluctantly pushed himself out of bed, dropping a kiss on the pale span of his wife's shoulder as he did so. Through the night, he'd dreaded the coming dawn; never did the Lord-King wish to leave his Queen's side, but he knew that there were obligations to fulfill, and they were both expected to oblige the council now. "The kingdom waits for its sovereign," he drawled at her, grinning as a surge of pride welled in his chest at the sight of his lover utterly ravished in his bed.

The doors sounded again, and Aêron gave a mild sigh through his nose before slipping his breeches over his hips. "Enter," he called out, and Emily sat up on her elbows to watch shamelessly as her husband walked half-dressed around the bed.

Rossetti burst through the doors in a rush, startling both Aêron and Emily as the Lord-King immediately drew his sword from its scabbard, glaring at his friend irritably. The irritation was fleeting though when the Lord-King caught sight of the dark look on the Italian chancellor's face. "What quandary is there?" he demanded, stepping forward with his sword still in hand.

The Chancellor barely managed a courteous bow to the bare-formed Queen before he frowned at Aêron severely. At any other time, he would've perhaps made a comment about Queen Emily's state of undress (and bruising), but there was no time.

"The West Limit has been attacked," he reported grimly, grabbing Aêron's tunic and shoving it at the Lord-King's bare chest. "You'll want to be dressed before we ride out to inspect the damages. Morgan waits with your charger in the courtyard." He wasted no time weaving circles; he too had to saddle his ride, and so Rossetti gave Emily a parting bow and 'my Queen', before leaving the pair to their solitude once more.

Emily sat up once they were alone, ignoring the damp trickle of Aêron's seed between her legs; draping her robe over her shoulders and Aêron tossed his ruined tunic aside. Her eyes were clear and apprehensive, her lip caught between her teeth as she reached for her husband. "The West Limit is the most impregnable of our borders," she uttered quietly, disbelief and uncertain fear coloring her words. Emily grasped Aêron's arm, holding firm as she stared up at his tense face worriedly.

The kingdom of Thunderfrost had four corners; the Northern Breach, the Dark South, the Eastern Peaks, and the West Limit. Each of these corners was guarded by terrain and man alike – strongholds and watchtowers had long guaranteed the safety and serenity of the kingdom, but of all the four corners, the strongest and most impenetrable was the West Limit. As per its title, the West was the very end of the Thunderfrost kingdom. Beyond their borders was almost quite literally the end of the world. Vast, black emptiness and air, and a narrow footpath that led to a place no man had lived to speak of.

To know that someone – or something, for that matter – had managed to breach their walls was enough to throw both Aêron and the new Queen. More so the Queen Consort – whose grip had tightened out of reflex on her husband's wrist at the thought of him being ambushed at the Limit. The terrain in itself was a murder to cross; what creatures lay in wait at the West Limit for her Lord-King?

"It's not safe, Aêron," she cried, eyes pleading with him to stay – stay in bed with her, stay within the castle with his children and have breakfast with them instead of disappearing before the royal children even woke. Stay somewhere she knew he would be safe. "There's no telling what lies in wait there for you, Lord-King. This could be a trap for your death."

The Lord-King's brow was dark and his features hard; his hand flexed around his sword's grip as he fought the desire to concede with the Lady-Queen. He had a duty to the kingdom to protect it, even if it meant his life was to hang in its balance. "I _must _go," he told her firmly, though his eyes spoke of different desires. "It is my duty as King, Emily. You know I cannot disregard something as serious as an attack on our borders." He lowered his sword upon the bed and pulled Emily into his arms, wrapping them tight around her waist before kissing her kiss-bruised lips.

His hand detached itself from her waist, burying instead in her gloriously tousled curls as he stared down at her worried face soothingly. "I won't be long," he promised her, kissing the ridge of her brow, and then her mouth.

Torn as Emily was between dressing to follow the Lord-King and demanding that he stay, the Lady-Queen knew that she could not selfishly as him to choose between her and the kingdom. It was their responsibility to share now, and Emily inhaled sharply. Her eyes searched his desperately for a moment as she slid her fingers down to his wrist; where the marriage bracelet glowed dimly against his skin. "Be safe, Great King," she whispered, and brought his hand up to her mouth before placing a lingering kiss on his wedding ring.

The moment was broken by the doors of their bedchamber opening once more, and this time two women stepped forward; Penelope and Jennifer. The latter of the two gave the royal couple a short curtsey before striding over to the Lord-King with the garment draped over her arm. "Chancellor Rossetti and Captain Morgan are waiting, Your Grace," she said, by way of explanation as she held out the deep emerald and gold gambeson for Aêron to don.

"What news have you heard?" the Lord-King asked her as he slid the gambeson over his shoulders and allowed Jennifer to step closer to him as he tugged at the brown leather lacing of his gambeson. His belt and scabbard was slipped around his hips, buckled and draped neatly by the blonde lady-in-waiting before he slid his sword back into its scabbard and stared at Jennifer impatiently.

Jennifer moved swiftly as he pulled his boots on himself, picking up the royal circlet crown from the pile of clothing on the floor. "There have been words of a fire, Good King," she told him, standing on her tiptoes as she settled the crown back onto his head and stepping back. Her blue eyes were hard from anger and righteous indignation – threats to the kingdom meant threats to the royal couple. "Mage Reid is accompanying your party should there be survivors in need of healing."

Aêron nodded shortly. "Good." Jennifer moved off to attend to the Lady-Queen, guiding the woman to the desk to eat before a thought occurred to the Lord-King and he frowned. He turned to where Penelope stood after laying a tray of food down by his desk, gesturing for her to come closer. "Lady Penelope, where are my children?" he asked her, when Penelope rushed to stand before him.

"The Heir Queen has awoken, Good King, and is taking her breakfast," the redhead told him. "Crown Prince Jackesyn sleeps still in his chambers."

The Lord-King's eyes flashed. "Alone?"

Penelope jumped at his low voice, cowering slightly before Lady Jennifer seemed to materialize protectively by her side. "Chancellor Rossetti gave orders to come here, Your Majesty," she stuttered nervously, bowing her head in apology. "The Crown Prince sleeps with the royal feline at his feet though, O King," she said, praying that this would soothe the Lord-King's temper and worry.

At the mention of a feline, Aêron frowned slightly before his brain conjured forth the image of a sleek black panther from the night before. His brow wrinkled. "The cat would profess such loyalty to my son?"

"Sergio adores the Crown Prince, Your Grace," Penelope affirmed, and Aêron thought it best to leave it at that. He had no time now to worry about cats and his children when creatures and men threatened his kingdom's border.

Aêron exhaled noisily through his nose. "Go to him," he ordered her shortly, and the woman wasted no time in obeying the Lord-King before he turned to Emily one last time. Bending on a knee, he grasped her hand in his and kissed it, rising with his dark eyes firmly on her face. "The kingdom waits," he whispered to her, and with a spin of his heels, the Lord-King disappeared down the hall and away from his bride.

Emily watched, unable to shake the heaviness in her chest as her husband's figure disappeared from sight, sighing when she felt Jennifer's hand rest gently on her shoulder. She turned to her friend, smiling wanly at Jennifer when the blonde reached out to the sash of her robe. "I suppose it will always feel like this when duty calls," she murmured quietly, smiling disparagingly at the blonde when Jennifer stared at her face. "And here I thought it would be easier, given our history."

"It will get easier, in time," Lady Jennifer assured her, smiling slightly as she slid the satin robe away from Emily's slender body. Unable to resist the temptation of her beloved companion's bare form in front of her, Jen's eyes dropped down below Emily's neck. When she realized just what was different about her friend's body, the lady-in-waiting's golden brow arched slowly.

"The Lord-King certainly knows how to mark his woman, doesn't he?" When Emily blushed a pretty shade of pink, Jennifer laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she cupped the Lady-Queen's cheek and stroked the soft skin gently. Her eyes were soft, though somewhat sad as she stared into Emily's shy, if somewhat guilty eyes. "You were his bride, Em, and now his wife and Queen. Surely you didn't expect him to share you once he'd taken you as his own?"

The Lady-Queen pouted sulkily then, eyes indignant in a way that had Jennifer smiling indulgently at her. "Why should he be the only one to choose who I share my bed with? We shared a bed long before he proposed; it shouldn't have to stop because he now shares it as well," she countered stubbornly, huffing as Jennifer guided her away to the Lord-King's private bath chamber. Wet heat engulfed them in the form of steam lingering in the room air, the royal bath a welcoming sight for the sore Lady-Queen. She stepped up to the large above-ground bath, hissing as she sank one foot into the bitingly hot water.

Jennifer's hand was cool on her shoulder. "Too hot, my Queen?" she asked, but Emily shook her head and instead lowered herself into the steaming water with a determined hiss. The lady-in-waiting frowned at her benevolently, but said nothing as she picked up the washcloth by the tub. Gently she ran the wet cloth over Emily's supple skin, massaging and soothing away the remnants of her night with the Lord-King; soothing her worries.

"The Lord-King is a man of great power and strength, Queen Emily. He is neither blind nor dumb enough to think of you as a bride to share." Jennifer's low, seductive voice ran over Emily's body like the cloth in her hand, and Emily moaned quietly at the back of her throat as her dearest companion's hand began to roam the damp path of her skin. A sharp gasp pulled from Emily's red lips when Jennifer's fingers found a rosy nipple.

"If I were the Lord-King, I would never share you. Not with your Lady; not with another man's eyes to even look at." Her tone was as coy as her fingers; the slender digits idly stroking and teasing and pinching the darkening nipple into a peak. Suddenly her mouth was at the Queen's ear, breathy, hot and wicked. "Does he please you as you'd wished? Was he everything and more than what you've dreamed of all those nights? When your body burned a fever only I could soothe; an ache only my hands and mouth could relieve you of?"

A keening squeak vibrated through Emily's chest as Jennifer's mouth latched onto the taut skin of her neck, arching as the blonde's sharp teeth sank possessively onto the point where her neck and collarbone met. Her hand broke through the water and reached up blindly, curling her fist into Jennifer's spooling blonde hair and dampening the ground around them, but Emily couldn't have cared less. All she could focus on was her friend's mouth on her skin – Jen always did have a way with her mouth Emily could never resist.

She moaned again as Jennifer's hand began to mold against her breast, breath shaking as she opened her mouth to speak. "Are you jealous, Jennifer?" she breathed, curling her fingers tighter into the blonde's thick hair when the lady-in-waiting bit down harder. "Does it enrage you to know that he has claimed me? Does it roil your stomach to see the marks of the Lord-King on my skin; where yours had once been?"

"Perhaps," the woman's purring voice responded, and Emily whimpered in protest when Jennifer's mouth and hand were pulled away suddenly. There was the rustling of material behind her, and Emily turned to watch the lady-in-waiting disrobe, eyeing Jennifer's nude body as gratuitously as she had the Lord-King's. Her dark eyes flashed a feral hunger as Jennifer stepped into the steaming water, and the Lady-Queen licked her lips when Jennifer's blue eyes glittered at her invitingly. "You may have taken your place in his bed, my Queen, but I will have always been the one _you _took to bed."

"Gods be damned, I will _keep _taking you to bed," Emily growled before wrapping her hands around Jennifer's wrist and pulling the woman towards her.

* * *

Water sloshed noisily amidst the tumbling figures; their mouths melded greedily into each other the way they always did – all teeth, tongue and greed. Jennifer's hands gripped tight at Emily's toned biceps, pinning the Lady-Queen firmly against the high wall of the tub as she plundered the Lady-Queen's mouth. Emily's short nails dug into her forearm, clawing at her biceps before sinking into Jennifer's back. Jennifer ripped her mouth away with a hiss, blue eyes flashing at the smarting sensation of broken skin and hot water.

"Did he like it when you used your nails?" she panted against Emily's mouth, hand slipping nimbly between the Queen Consort's legs and grinning when Emily arched into her hand eagerly. Her fingers circled and teased and tempted; Jennifer chuckled when she felt the woman's essence beginning to seep. "Did he love it when you would bite down hard and bruise; when you sank your nails so deep it would bleed?"

Emily sobbed, hips grinding frantically against Jennifer's expert hand as two slender fingers delved inside her, stroking places only Jennifer knew how. Flames licked her body, shooting down her spine; cutting at her lungs as Jennifer twisted her fingers and stroked the sensitive nerve with her thumb. "Not like you," she gasped, reaching between the blonde's legs now and cupping the golden curls there. "Never like you."

A harsh moan grated through Jennifer's clenched jaw; spreading her legs and bearing down eagerly as Emily's long fingers entered her. Her thrusts intensified, as did the pressure on Emily's nerve; circling the bud purposefully until the dark-haired Queen's thighs began to tighten and her breath started to hitch. Even in the water, the lubrication eased her way, and Jennifer thrust her fingers into the Queen to the knuckle, slipping a third finger inside when she felt Emily's walls clench painfully tight around her.

"That's it," she moaned breathlessly, grinding herself against Emily's fingers as the Queen shuddered and writhed and wailed through her release. "Don't fight it, sweet Queen. It would be a futile battle to resist it." Jennifer kept her fingers thrusting at a languid, steady pace, a flustered but smug smile on her face when Emily tightened around her again and sucked in a hard breath. Her own loins burned painfully; heat and desperation and pleasure nearly blinding her as she felt the sharp plunge of her climax begin to rip through her.

Throwing her head back, golden hair flowing in the water, Jennifer gave a long, shuddering cry before falling forward to brace herself against the tub wall. Her chest heaved like a horse's after a gallop, her breath shrill and desperate as she pressed her forehead against Emily's warm shoulder and inhaled heavily. The water around them rippled in time with their still-twitching bodies; reluctantly Emily pulled her fingers from within Jennifer, and moaned quietly when Jennifer did the same.

"Oh." Emily's eyes snapped open groggily at Jennifer's intrigued tone, watching speechlessly as the blonde observed her fingers with such rapt attention that had the Queen blushing. The fluids coating Jennifer's fingers were usually clear, clean and sweet to the taste. The thick heat upon her digits then was milky white and somewhat runny. Jennifer arched a brow wryly. "The Lord-King's seed…I should have known."

Emily blushed a deeper shade of pink, splashing a wave of water at her lady-in-waiting before grabbing the cloth from the edge. "He is my husband," she said primly, physically turning Jennifer around to wash her back. "It is my duty to produce an heir to the bloodline, is it not?" She ran the cloth lovingly down Jennifer's shoulder blades, stroking the smooth skin distractedly as she wondered if their child would look like its mother or the Lord-King.

Nonsense – she wasn't even sure she was with child yet!

Jennifer hummed at her, washing away the remnants on her fingers and sighing contentedly as Emily began to massage her shoulders. In retrospect; perhaps Emily needed it more than she did, but if the Lady-Queen wished to knead her shoulders, well – Jennifer was taught to obey the Lady's wishes, was she not? "And what handsome heirs they will be," she admitted, smiling out of the corner of her mouth as images of young little handsome princes running about the castle halls.

"You realize the Lord-King will want more than one," she remarked over her shoulder. "You'll be swollen, sore and stupendously worn – Queen Consorts live such glamorous lives, don't they?"

Emily pinched her side, eliciting a giggle from the blonde that she quickly joined into. "Hush, Soothesayer," she huffed, a laugh in her voice. "My children will have a beautifully gifted nanny to raise them. You always wanted sons and daughters, didn't you? If the Magyck had granted us the gift of life-giving?"

Jennifer was quiet for a long moment, and Emily could only make out her profile through the rising steam. "Sons with your eyes and daughters with your smile, yes," she murmured, before turning to the Queen with a cheeky grin and sending a wave of water at Emily. "But don't think I would agree to raising _your _children on my own, Your Majesty. I believe that is the duty of the _man_ of the house, isn't it – all drink and pleasure and no responsibilities?"

"Mind your tongue!" the Lady-Queen exclaimed, smiling though as she splashed more water at Jennifer's grinning face. "I'm still your Queen, Lady Jennifer, and you _will _do as I say!"

Jennifer giggled lowly, moving in to corner the Lady-Queen once more against the tub. "And you know I live to please you, O Sweet Queen."


	7. Matters VII

They rode in silence; nothing but their chargers' heavy breathing and hooves pounding in thundering cacophony. The Lord-King's face was hard, unreadable; his party of men knew the mask he wore – they thought it best not to speak for now. His temper was petrifying on an average day, but knowing that they had taken the Lord-King from his bed and long-awaited bride…

…silence reigned triumphant.

Rossetti rode behind Aêron, beside Morgan as a small party of soldiers and Mage Reid brought up the rear. They rode over the hills and through forest paths with little trouble, but as they came to the last and final of the hills, Aêron brought his charger to a skidding halt. Sweat dampened his heated skin, sliding drops down his temple, through his hair, his crown; melted down into his gambeson and pooled into a wet patch around his neck and down his chest but Aêron could feel nothing of the stifling heat. His mind was focused on the dusty ghosts swirling in the air above them.

Dark clouds of smoke were filling the sky from over yonder; a thick black blanket of death.

The West Limit was burning.

With a thunderous swear, the Lord-King kicked his charger into motion, the roaring stallion leaping into a gallop that carried the man at mad pace across the plains. Vaguely Aêron was aware of the thundering of hooves in his wake, but his ears were pounding with blood and ringing with his rage and fear as he urged his ride faster; Bowen's hooves were barely touching the ground now.

His entire body was corded muscle; tense, hard and ready to strike – his mind sharp and roiling at the thought of what he would find at the Limit. Bowen flew over the last of the hills; strong, muscular arms pulled hard on the reins and Aêron threw his weight backwards in his saddle to keep his charger from falling headfirst into the masses.

The smoke was growing thicker. It was darker than night; the scent of burning ash and flesh assaulted the Lord-King like a swarm of hornets as the West Limit finally came into view. Through the burn and tears of his eyes and his throat, Aêron saw the remnants of his stronghold, and the Lord-King's throat tightened in horror.

Bodies, gory, charred and destroyed, they decorated the outer walls of the stronghold; pinned ragdolls of melting flesh and burning red armor that made the Lord-King gag in his throat. On what was left of the still burning bodies, he knew that the sigil of his house was among the last vestige of those men…

…they were his men.

The sound of thundering hooves and roaring horses behind him still wasn't enough to pull Aêron from his horrified stupor; not until Rossetti's voice carried a series of disgusted Italian profanities to his ears. Aêron blinked hard, jerking his head and his horse to the sound of his Chancellor's voice. His face was unreadable, blank with shock and grim as Rossetti dismounted his horse. Slowly, Aêron did the same, and left Bowen's reins in the hand of a soldier before unsheathing Nyramir from his scabbard.

In his hand, the Lord-King's sword sung with power. Sleek steel and black leather, Nyramir was forged in the time of the Tyrant; Syldorian steel and dragon's breath gave birth to the sword to have slain the mad Tyrant, and had served Aêron faithfully ever since. Now the broadsword nearly vibrated in its master's hand as Aêron darted a glance at Morgan and Rossetti, tense as they came to his side, swords drawn.

Morgan sniffed the air, a scowl of disgust and anger clear on his face. "Sulfur," he growled, recognizing the sharp, putrid stench anywhere. It came from the throat of the most demonic beasts to ever fly the air and walk the earth; the beasts that he fought alongside the Lord-King and nearly lost an arm to. The beasts he'd killed single-handedly and still kept a collection of their teeth in his chambers as memorabilia.

"This was the work of dragons, Your Majesty."

Aêron knew it as well. He smelt it far off – no one could mistake the stench of sulfur from dragon's breath. It was ingrained in the Lord-King's memory – screeching roars and winged shadows plaguing the skies; fires blazing an unholy heat and claws and teeth and talons so sharp and wicked. He bore the scars on his body; he bore the memories on his skin.

"Large dragons," he murmured, stepping closer to where the pikes smoked burnt flesh and flayed bodies. There was nothing spared – no man, creature or object still breathed within the charred remains of the stronghold. Dragons only took what was necessary. His brow was dark over his eyes as he glared out into the clouded sky, mouth hardened lines. "The question now is if they held riders on their backs – no dragon, no matter how hungry, would be foolish enough to attack a stronghold."

His grasp tightened over Nyramir – the blade gleamed in the sunlight and flashed with its wielder's rage. Aêron glanced at them over his shoulder, brows low and eyes black. "Search for survivors. If they wear our colors, heal them. If they don't, finish them," he growled, and the party obeyed with swift feet and singing swords.

Rossetti rushed to his side, sword in hand and cloak pulled over his mouth and nose in distaste at the scent. He was a man of politics; long retired from the field and with no longing for a return to it. He peered at the Lord-King's hard face and sucked in another lungful of the putrid air. "Do you think it was George?" he asked bluntly. There was no need for beating around bushes – Rossetti rarely had the patience for it.

Aêron scowled at the name; the name that put bile in his throat and rage in his chest. Dully in his gambeson he could feel his scars throb as if in memory, and his glare darkened further. "I'd be more surprised if it wasn't his doing," he spat bitterly, and surge forward.

"Come, Davyd. I smell a scent fouler than any dragon's flame, and I'm very certain it came from my cousin's mouth."

* * *

While Aêron tended to his land and people, Emily had begun to take her responsibilities as Queen Consort with the Council. Washed and dressed elegantly as always in red taffeta, white silk and gold detail, the Lady-Queen sat in the high-backed chair of her husband, and tried her best not to claw at her own arm out of sheer boredom and irritation at the men of her council. Beside her, Sergio sat on his haunches at watched the men with a bored rumble, tail flicking idly at the terrified gawking of the men.

She knew how tedious it was to counsel the Council; she'd done so countless of times before – in Aêron's study with him, reading by candlelight well into the night and swearing at the Gods for ever conjuring the idea of politics.

Emily hadn't realized how much more draining it was to handle these matters _first hand. _

"Your Majesty, I implore you – this matter is of most importance! We _must _come to a decision immediately!"

Smothering a pained sighed, Emily pressed the pads of her fingers to her temple, pressing down hard as she regarded the councilman before her with a look one could only describe as wearily murderous. "Gentlemen," she began, practically sighing the word as she lifted the scroll in front of her and read it again. "I am well aware at the importance of this matter, but you already _know _my decision." She shot a pointed glare at the councilman, and he sputtered nervously when Sergio followed the glare with a growl of his own.

The Lady-Queen was sweet and gentle most days, but Emily hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and she was _sore. _She had no time for political games like this.

"HæGun will abide by our laws and dock by our shores to _our _permission." Her glare was brutal when another councilman began to protest. It was curbed almost immediately, and the simpering man clamped his mouth shut obediently under her fiery glare…and as Sergio rose to his feet in warning. "If the Viceroy refuses to dock his ships as and when my husband or I wish him to, then I'm afraid the journey back to HæGun will be a long and arduous one." With a definitive push, the Lady-Queen rose to her feet, prompting the rest of the council to follow suit in confusion.

She nodded to them, firm and dismissive. "That is enough for today, councilmen. I am drained of my political knowledge for the moment; the council is dismissed." She stepped away from her seat, waving aside their reverent bowing until they ceased, rolling her eyes internally at the sheer worship that seemed to follow her in every matter she tended to as the new Queen Consort. Emily huffed; dress swirling in her wake as she strode out of the council chambers, Sergio ambling lazily beside her.

"I hate politics," she grumbled, and Sergio nudged his head against her knee, purring at her. Emily smiled at the beast and scratched his ear, slipping her fingers underneath the golden collar around his neck and grasping the leash before guiding him down the hall to their study. "Come, Sergio – I do believe I promised the children we would join them for their noon meal."

And join them she did; much to the delight of the Crown Prince and the Heir Queen, who all but abandoned their meals to throw themselves at their new stepmother. Screams and squeals of joy and 'Mama!' Lady Jennifer and Lady Penelope rose from their seats as well, having taken watch over the royal children, and curtseyed at the Queen. When Emily nodded her head at them, Penelope huffed at the children, who giggled and buried their faces into Emily's side.

"They've been fussing all morning to see you," she told Emily, wagging her fingers benevolently at Jack when the Crown Prince giggled unrepentantly from behind Emily's skirts. Penelope wrinkled her nose at the boy, eliciting a giggle from Arwen as she too grasped the Lady-Queen's skirts in her hands. "They all but threatened to barge into the council chambers and demand that they leave you be!"

Emily laughed slightly, shaking her head at the children as they shrugged innocently at her. "Have you been terrorizing my Ladies again?" she asked them, eyes glittering in amusement when both the royal shook their heads. The act would have convinced the Lady-Queen, had her Ladies not been nodding their heads somberly behind the children. A laugh bubbled in her chest, and Emily lifted Jack onto her hip, guiding Arwen back to the table with her free hand.

Jennifer and Penelope followed dutifully, the blonde smirking out of the corner of her mouth as Emily sat herself by the table, regal as always. "News has yet to reach our ears of the Lord-King and the West Limit," she murmured discreetly, leaning over Emily's shoulder to serve her a plate of lamb stew and bread. Her words were low, barely discernible as a mumble to the children, but clear as day in the ear of the Lady-Queen.

Dark brown eyes darted worriedly to the blonde, and then the children, relieved to find them blissfully unaware of the news. Apprehension and worry clenched tight in the depths of her stomach, and Queen Emily swallowed the hot bile in her throat before calmly tearing a piece of bread to dip into her stew. Jennifer stood by her side, faithfully awaiting her response, and Emily took her time with soaking her piece of bread before speaking again.

"Have faith in your King." This was all she said; a quiet, sure statement that doubled as an order as Emily began to eat. Despite her stomach roiling in protest at the food – anxiety clawing at its walls rarely left room for sustenance -, Emily forced the heady stew down and turned to Arwen in surprise when the girl spoke.

"I heard Father leaving this morning," Arwen uttered quietly, turning her dark eyes up to stare at the Queen Consort worriedly. She knew from the bustling of feet and the thunderous commands that something serious had taken their father away; Lady Penelope and Lady Jennifer had both refused to speak of the matter with them. And then when Aêron had come down to the dining hall to kiss her goodbye, all the Lord-King would speak to her was 'these were not her burdens yet'.

"Where did Father go?" she asked anxiously, wringing her hands and picking at her nails and trying her best not to let her fear show through in her innocent face. She was Heir Queen; fear was not an ally but a foe. She was to master it; conquer it, subdue it – never to embrace it. But how could she resist the fear of losing her father, her dearly beloved father and last surviving parent? "I heard Chancellor Rossetti speaking of fires and strongholds beyond the Silver Gates."

The Silver Gates were the borders of the Thunderfrost Castle. Not in any way literal, the Silver Gates were large, majestic waterfalls that bracketed the castle and its grounds. It was the falls that the rivers they walked along led to. Neither the Heir Queen or Crown Prince had ever been beyond the Gates; never had their father granted them this freedom. What they knew of the lands beyond the Gates were only from tales and news and far off sights, and Arwen was growing increasingly curious about the lands that would be hers to rule.

The Lord-King however, had other plans. And apparently so did the Queen Consort.

"What the Chancellor and your father spoke of should be of no concern of yours, Heir Queen," Emily told her chidingly, and Arwen began to protest, but the Lady-Queen's hand came up to silence her gently. Her eyes were warm upon Arwen's face, calm and soothing; a stark contrast to the condescending gazes of the council. "You are seven, Arwen. You've only just begun your life! Why would you burden yourself so with the worries of a King so soon, when you have trees to climb, horses to ride, and arrows to archer?"

Arwen was silent for a moment, picking once again at the edging of her dress. Jack was much too engrossed in feeding Sergio pieces of lamb under the table and Penelope was too busy trying to stop him, though the redhead's ears were keenly peeled for the Heir Queen's response. Arwen bit the corner of her lip, darting glances at Emily's warm, open face. "Well…." She balled her hands into fists and tucked them under her thighs, summoning her courage.

Father always said that strength came from control.

"Because Papa needs someone to lessen the burden for him," she uttered quietly, and then began to smile uncertainly at the new Queen Consort. "But now that you're married to him, Emmy, you can take care of Father much better than I can!"

Jack jumped up suddenly, apparently having paid attention after all, beaming excitedly at the pair. "Oh, yes, Mama! You can take care of Father now!" he exclaimed happily, bouncing on his feet as Sergio watched in dismay as his feeding ended. "And when you have all your babies, Arwen and I can take care of _them _for you!" The young Crown Prince seemed beyond himself with glee at the very idea. Little brothers and sisters, all for him to teach and play with and love!

Emily's eyes grew wide, and her ladies-in-waiting did their best to smother their giggling (without success) as the Lady-Queen sputtered for a reply. The Queen was spared from granting the Crown Prince a response though, when the doors to the study boomed open, and in came the marching of purposeful boots. Emily's face grew serious and she surged to her feet immediately, pulling the children to her on reflex as her dark eyes rushed to recognize the figures marching towards them. As they drew nearer Emily's nose wrinkled at the scent that followed, but she knew who walked in smooth strides and wore a golden crown.

Her brow wrinkled with worry when the man's face came into the light. "Aêron, you're hurt!"

The Lord-King stood stiffly, legs apart and arms tense by his side as smoke and heat radiated of him like molten air. His eyes were dark; the rest of his face covered from sight, but grey ash and blood smeared across his clothes, and Emily could see blood through the rips of his gambeson's sleeves. Though no wounds were within sight, the presence of blood was enough to push the woman's fear into overdrive.

Aêron drew the kerchief away from his nose and mouth; soot streaked his face like stripes of a tiger, catching his nose and mouth even through the kerchief, but the Lord-King seemed too impatient to care. The rest of his men were worse for wear – some limping and bloody, most battered and bruised with broken egos. His eyes fell upon his children, and his heart clenched at the sight of fear in their wide eyes. "Take them away," he ordered quietly, and Jennifer and Penelope were quick to cease their gaping and ushered the royal children away from the blood.

As he watched them take his children away, Aêron cast an apologetic, sad glance at Arwen; who turned helplessly for a fleeting look at her father. This was not a world she was ready for; he feared that she would never be ready for.

Emily was at his side in an instant, hands grasping at his body, fingers spread over wounds and bruises as she sought frantically for wounds that brought his blood to sight. Doing her best to ignore the thick scent of rotten eggs around the Lord-King, her eyes darted from his face to his body and then to his face again, her hand coming to cup his soot-streaked cheek worriedly. "What happened to you?" she exclaimed, pulling her hand back when red smeared over her thumb, and she realized from the pained wince on her husband's face that the soot had settled over a gash across his cheek.

"Oh, Aêron," she gasped, brows furrowed and face pained as she stepped back to regard her husband. Battered, bruised, but still defiantly standing, the Lord-King looked to be put through his paces, and Emily knew by the slight slouch in his shoulders that his back had sustained some injury as well.

"I'm fine." His voice was low, gruff and almost dismissing, but the Lady-Queen was having none of that. There was never a time that Aêron could command her unless she wanted him to, and Emily grasped his elbow, shooting an apologetic glance his way when the Lord-King hissed under his breath, but held firm.

Shoving him towards the doors imperiously, Emily thrust her chin out at him. "To our chambers with you, fool King. Your wife has to assess the damages before they rob her of her King."

Sighing heavily, Aêron found no place to disobey, and begrudgingly limped towards their chambers, ignoring the curious stares from the hallway. "Such a domineering spirit in you, wife," he grumbled.

"You wouldn't have me any other way, Aêron. Now make haste to the waters – you stink like a skunk rolled in old cabbage."


	8. Matters VIII

**And then they bang.**

~.~.~.~.~

The Lady-Queen led the battered man into their chambers, and ordered their guards by the door to let no one in for the moment. Of course the men obeyed, despite the Lord-King's insistence that all was well with him. They were not blind but simply obediently unaware; but even they could not ignore the blood seeping through his gambeson. News of the West Limit in flames had spread fast through the castle, and many had shared worried glances when the Lord-King returned with his party, soot-covered and bleeding.

The West Limit hadn't been breached since the time of the Tyrant, and even then; it was Aêron who'd burst through the stronghold gates.

With a loud creak, the great doors shut firmly behind the royal couple, and Emily turned to her battered husband sternly. There he stood, the great Lord-King of the Five Realms, Champion of the Tyrant – covered in dirt and grime and soot, blood streaked upon his skin and clothes; shoulders slouched in a pained hunch and a grimace on his mouth. Even as he'd marched as imperiously as he had through the halls down to their chambers, the man faltered on his left leg.

"Undress, please."

Aêron's brow arched slowly, face flat as Emily folded her arms impatiently at him. Were that any other moment in their married life, the Lord-King would have gladly obliged the Queen Consort, but undressing now would only bring him pain and hardly any pleasure. "I am unharmed, Emily." It was the biggest lie he'd spoken all year, and it was clear by the look his wife was glaring at him with that she was well aware of the fact.

When the Lady-Queen merely continued to glare at her husband, Aêron found himself unable to deny her dark eyes and stubborn mouth.

He sighed, fingers slowly unhooking the loop of his scabbard and belt, trying his best to school his features as his scalded hands ached over the leather. The corner of his mouth twitched, as did his brow, but Aêron managed to painstakingly remove the leather from around his hips; it fell from his hand into a pile by his feet with a dull thud. Now the Lord-King's brow was arched, his mouth twitching for an entirely different reason as he smirked at his wife and calmly gestured to his breeches.

"Is her Majesty satisfied, or would it please the Queen if she relieved her husband of his garments herself?"

Emily tilted her head at Aêron, rolling her eyes at the slouching man's suggestive smirk but found her feet moving forward and her hands grasping the lacing of his breeches, tugging impatiently at them. "Of all times to play your games, Aêron, you choose when you bleed and ache and bruise," she huffed, tugging roughly at the brown leather lacings, jerking his hips to her as her nimble fingers slid and slipped between the spaces and loosed his breeches.

Her dark eyes snapped up to his face, and very suddenly all vitriol left the Queen when she saw him staring down at her as he always did; lovingly, apologetically – and covered in blood and soot. "Oh, Aêron," she sighed, eyes welling as she reached up to stroke his cheek again; gentle was her thumb against the clotting gash across his cheek. "What happened to you?"

Aêron inhaled heavily, wincing internally as his ribs burned, but shook his head at Emily as she slowly began to drag his breeches down his legs. "The Limit was destroyed by the time we reached," he revealed to her, leaning down slightly to steady himself upon her shoulder as he stepped out of the garments. His back stung and his legs faltered, but Aêron swallowed the groan in his throat and straightened with his concerned wife.

"Dragons," he breathed, sighing in relief as his clothes were removed. His gambeson was beyond salvaging, and so Aêron merely tugged at the tattered laces and left the mangled garment in a pile at his feet as well. As he stood in all his naked glory – albeit a soot-covered glory -, the Lord-King was fully aware of his wife's roving eyes snapping up to his in surprise and fear at the word. "They were gone by then; the Limit was in ruin and flames. Blackened and destroyed, and the men fused into their armor."

Emily blanched at the imagery it conjured, her stomach roiling heavily at the news, but the Queen Consort merely swallowed the thick bile and focused on the spot of her King's shoulder as she traced her fingers delicately over the wound there. "If the dragons had left the Limit to burn, and burn it did; what wounded my husband and King?" she whispered quietly, already afraid of the answer that would come from Aêron's mouth.

The Lord-King's voice was a growl; bitter contempt dripping from his words. "There was one dragon left – a shape-shifter in scales." He looked away with a scowl, teeth bare in a snarl. "I would know the stench of his breath on my deathbed."

Fear crept up her neck, seeped from her throat as Emily summoned the courage to speak the traitor's name. His face bloomed in the eye of her mind; pale, evil and sick – his twisted grin and crooked teeth. His unfeeling blue eyes that bore through their faces like the silver of his blade – it came back to her like a harsh blow to the face.

"George." The name tasted like death in her mouth; foul and bitter and black – much like the man's soul. Although the Lady-Queen was fairly certain George Foyet did not have a soul to begin with. Bitter and spiteful and sick in all definitions of the word, many could not believe the Lord-King to be related to a beast they deemed 'the Reaper', for he took lives with as much ease and bloodlust as the true Reaper did. Dark Magyck paved the way to his wicked deeds; the man was faceless when he pleased, nameless where it warranted it. Some nights there were whispers of him flying as a dragon – other nights howls of a werewolf piercing the night sky.

There were things that went bump in the night…George was the thing they went bump trying to hide from.

Aêron's brow twitched at the name, and his hand came to wrap around his wife's tightly. The grip was perhaps a touch too firm on Emily's skin, for the Queen flinched, and the man was quick to loosen his rage-induced manacle. He wanted to apologize; to take her in his arms, hold her close and kiss her deep, for there was nothing else in the kingdom – in the realm – that could soothe the Lord-King but the woman there before him.

No one but his Lady-Queen.

No one but his wife.

His Emily.

But his body ached and burned, and the Lord-King was reminded once again of the wounds that needed tending to. He stared down at Emily's face, meeting her worried gaze with an apologetic one, and bringing her hand up to kiss the tips of her fingers lovingly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting the pads of her fingers damply. "It was not fair for me to release my disquiet on you – I am a weary old man, and I need rest."

The Queen Consort sighed inwardly, shaking her head at the Lord-King before pulling her hand from his grasp, poking him mildly in the shoulder instead. She held no grudge against Aêron for reacting as he had; she had endured worse than just a smarting grip on her wrist, and she was a fool-queen if she was to let a mild show of rage deter her from her goal. "You need a bath," she told him resolutely instead, and began to guide him towards their bath chambers once more.

"I will not share your bed until that foul stench is washed from your skin and that filth stains your body no more. Resist, and you share your bed with your dogs tonight, fool-king."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

* * *

"Stop fidgeting."

"It stings! What _are _you putting on me that burns so -!"

"Soap, Aêron."

"Oh."

Emily smirked at her husband's back, mouth twitching into a smile as the Lord-King sat between her legs in their bath, naked and wincing in the hot water as she cleaned away the dirt and soothed his wounds. It had been a battle in itself to force the proud King into the bath, and an even harder one to have him sit still. Presently the Lady-Queen was perched upon the top of the bath, bare legs submerged in the hot water and pinning him firmly between her legs as she gently began to clean the dried blood and soot from his wounded back.

The Lady-Queen hissed in sympathy as she ran the soap-dampened washcloth over her husband's back, stroking his skin soothingly with her free hand when Aêron flinched and hissed an expletive under his breath. She hated hurting him so, but the wounds were to be treated, or he would be ill again, as he had when he'd stubbornly refused to tend to the stab wounds once before. "Please be still, Aêron, I'm almost finished," she told him gently, washing away the blood with a wet hand. Layers of crusted blood and sweat and dirt fell away from his skin, like the peeling of a dragon's scales, and revealed the tan skin underneath, marred in scars both fresh and old.

At the sight of the wounds, Emily could not resist the onslaught of tears that welled in her eyes, and the Lady-Queen gave a quiet sniffle. Warm tears ran trails down her pretty face, and melded into the water; first one drop, and then two.

Aêron turned slightly at the sound, eyebrows arched in surprise and concern when he found his wife struggling to smother her tears and stiffen her quivering mouth. He turned fully then, moving in further between her legs as he slid his damp hands along her thighs, gripping them soothingly as he stared up at the Queen's weeping face with wide, guilty eyes. "Don't cry for me, my sweet. Please don't cry for my scars," he pleaded with her gently, reaching up to swipe away at the tears that marked her beautiful face.

His heart clenched at the thought of causing her so much distress; he wasn't used to seeing her like this. Most times the Lady-Queen was upset with him, she hurt him _more_. Pinches, slaps and sharp pulls at his skin would remind him of her dislike of him shedding his blood, but this time the Queen Emily was surrendering herself to tears he rarely saw.

"Please," he said again, staring up at her beseechingly as he pulled her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. "Please, Emily. Don't cry for a fool like me."

Much to the Lord-King's surprise, the raven haired beauty only seemed to cry harder. "Oh, Aêron," she whimpered, sniffling miserably as she hastily reached up to wipe the tears away to clear her vision. Her watery eyes opened onto her husband's hazel ones, and Emily mustered a disparaging smile at the Lord-King's anxious visage. "You are _my _fool-king, you mangled weather-bitten lout! I will cry for you however much I wish, if you insist on letting that foul beast of a man you call cousin rip you limb from limb!"

Shamefaced, the Lord-King bowed his head at his incensed wife, lowering his head into her lap and stroking his hands along her shapely calves as she huffed at him. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, mouth pressed against the skin he revealed as his hands deftly slid her skirts up higher; higher over her hips and pooling around her soft buttocks. His mouth planted warm, wet kisses along her knee, her thigh, the sensitive curve there.

He smiled into her skin when he heard her breath shudder, coy and soothing as his hands wandered around her hips and pulled her closer to his mouth as he found the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "It was not my intention to frighten you in the slightest," he assured her, rumbling the words against her thigh as her hands wove into his short dark hair.

Emily hummed at him, back arching against her will as his skilled mouth and hands tempted the last of her coherent thought from her mind. Her conscience nagged at her, chiding her for being so easily distracted from her worry for him, but what could the Lady-Queen do when her husband's mouth was roving dangerously close to the rising heat of her core? Emily sighed as Aêron's tongue slid along the skin of her thigh, lapping the water droplets there; tasting her skin.

"What are my King's intentions now?" she breathed, curling her fingers tight into his short hair and forcing his eyes to her. Dark, endless whirls of heat, lust, unspeakable things stared back at her, and Emily felt a surge of damp heat rushing between her legs.

Aêron growled at her, fingers gripping possessively into her hips now as he pulled her even closer; his breath hot against her thigh. "It would please your King if the Queen would join him…in his bath."


	9. Matters IX

His mouth burned hot on her skin; hotter than the waters seeping into her skirts and wetting her skin. His hands gripped tight, his fingers dug deep into her hips and his tongue plundered into her core with dizzying skill. Emily's gasps and strangled whimpers were breathless and weak; they filled the bath chambers in resonating echoes amidst the sloshing water and growling of her husband. Pleasure, raw and stifling assaulted the Lady-Queen like sharp claws of the scaled sky-beasts, and Emily threw her head back in a desperate moan.

Aêron was on her like a thirsting beast; greedy and possessive as he drank from her the very essence of her being. Hot, tart and yet deliciously sweet on his tongue, the Lord-King couldn't get enough of her taste. A low growl, harsh and animalistic reverberated in his chest, vibrating into her skin in ways that had Emily crying out weakly as his tongue lashed across the tender nerve between her legs. He swiped his tongue hard against it, grinning against her skin when a rush of heat flooded into his waiting mouth.

He dragged his teeth along her skin, nipping sharply.

"Oh!" Emily's fingers sank into the Lord-King's hair, nail skimming his scalp, digging in hard as Aêron snarled against her core. Her hips bucked and her back arched against her husband's mouth as she smothered a gasp and struggled to breathe through the rising heat in her stomach. It bubbled and boiled and curled deep, shuddering roils of heat and pleasure and need deep inside her; Emily canted her hips forward and spread her legs wider as the heat threatened to wipe her mind clean.

With a rumbling growl, the Lord-King pulled his mouth from her, smirking at the wail of protest that followed. He lifted his face to her, the dark flash of his hooded eyes and the glisten of her wetness clear to the gasping Queen Consort as she stared down at the Lord-King with desperate, lust-darkened eyes. She was throbbing, pounding, teetering so painfully close to her release that she could feel her loins burning at the very cusp of her climax…

…but the Lord-King was merely smirking at her there; his hands doing nothing to help as they massaged and slid teasingly along her quaking thighs. His hands were large, encompassing over the span of her milky skin; callused in the most delicious of ways as Emily's skin flushed a heated pink and her eyes flashed a warning at her smirking husband.

"Do not think it wise to tease me, Aêron," she warned him lowly, stifling a gasp as his fingers delved languidly inside her, thrusting slowly. "You bruise and hurt like a soldier trampled upon already – you wish for your wife to batter you further?"

The threat made Aêron smile, handsome face splitting into a crooked, roguish smirk; all the while his fingers moved sinfully between her quivering thighs. "It would be a battering I would willingly endure," he drawled, low and deep and grating like the gravel they walked upon. It seemed to soothe the Lord-King's aches; tempting his wife's patience and desire.

The Queen bore her teeth, grinding down hard to prevent herself from screaming out in frustration. Her dark eyes flashed at Aêron; feline and impatient as her husband seemed intent on torturing her for his own wicked pleasure. "If my King cannot perform, I can very easily summon Jennifer," she threatened lowly, smirking felinely down at the Lord-King as her legs slid along his waist and hips, pulling him closer. "At least then my release would be guaranteed."

The utterance of her lady-in-waiting's name served its purpose, for the Lord-King's eyes darkened and his grip upon her thighs intensified possessively. It was amusing to the Lady-Queen; to watch Aêron's handsome face morph from a smug, coy smirk into a petulant, jealous frown. Most of the castle knew of the Lady-Queen's taking of her dearest companion to bed, though many rarely ever spoke of the hidden meaning behind it. Knowing fully now that there had been another to touch Emily – love Emily the way that he did – it set fire to the Lord-King's jealousy like the flames of a dragon.

"None shall lay mark on your skin but I," he rumbled possessively, and thrust his fingers roughly inside his wife until he had her gasping. Each slide of his thick fingers from within her heated core dragged tortured rivets of pleasure down Emily's spine, and the smug smirk on her lips gave way to a slack-jawed moan. Aêron's eyes were dark and heated; he watched her face with hawk-like intensity as Emily began to gasp and he could feel the twitch in her thigh muscle as she drew closer to that coveted precipice.

"No man…." His fingers scissored inside her and curled – the Lady-Queen squeaked with a frantic need. "No woman…." His head dropped back down between her quivering thighs; his mouth hot and his tongue skilled on the throbbing nerve that until he had her sobbing. He worked and teased and tasted her heat until he felt the hard, crushing clench around his fingers, and Aêron pulled his fingers from within her roughly.

Emily screamed; the four walls vibrated from the sheer strength of her guttural wail. "_No!"_

The Lord-King was brutal though, mercilessly cupping her heat and pinning his thumb firmly against her nerve, holding it there with just enough pressure to keep her dangling. "_No one_," he hissed, the words practically dripped jealous venom as he began to slowly, torturously circle the nerve. "No one touches you as I do."

With a ground trembling scream, the Queen fell apart, trembling, quaking; shuddering so violently she collapsed into her husband's arms. It was like her entire body had succumbed to the Magyck – the Magyck of her King's hands and mouth and gravelly voice. Every inch of her tingled and sang and twitched, like the aftershocks of a Mage's bolts running through her sweat-slick body as Aêron crushed her to his chest and kept his hand pinned firmly in place.

Emily whimpered as his fingers began to move again, clinging tight to his biceps as she struggled to pull away weakly. "Aêron…." His fingers swept across again and her body jolted sharply as he withdrew his hand. In its place though, was his body; the hard heat of his manhood grinding against her desperately. She moaned dimly as he positioned himself at her entrance, shaking her head almost dazedly as he dropped his teeth to her shoulder.

"I can't, Aêron," she moaned, and her body bowed into an arch away from him, her head lolling and her dark hair spilling like a black river as she pulled her head away from his shoulder. Her fingernails gripped like iron to his broad shoulders; dragged hard and sank deep enough to leave blood red scores down his skin as the broad head of his manhood sank into her depths. "You've won, Aêron. It's too much!" she whimpered as he plunged forward regardless, body rigid as she wrapped her legs around his waist and struggled to accommodate his girth in the water.

The Lord-King regarded her calmly, hands stroking at her skin soothingly as he sank deeper and brought his hips closer into her body. "You can take it," he promised her, burying himself until at last, their bodies met. "You've taken it before, and you shall do so again, Emily. Have faith in your body." He smiled quietly and dropped his mouth to her brow in a gentle kiss; his hand tangling into her spooling hair and holding her. "Have faith in your king."

And then he moved.

Water slapped like damp hands against skin around them, echoes of gasps and whimpers and moans filled the room's thick air like whispers through veils as the Lord-King melded their hips together with slow, deep, precise thrusts. Each slide out, each cant inwards; each movement of his body was calculated and soul-deep – each grind brought Emily dizzyingly closer to her second release. All the Queen could do was cling onto her husband, and cling tight as his mouth met the hollow of her neck, and he bit down.

"_Aêron_!" Emily jolted again, violently this time as her climax ripped through her body the same time Aêron's teeth sank into her skin; she gasped as he slid in that impossibly deep slide and held him there in her convulsing walls as the Lord-King growled into her neck. She felt him swell slight inside her, and then twitch once, twice, three times as his seed surged up inside her.

They remained breathless and clinging to each other for a long moment; until the heated water on their skins had cooled enough to give them shivers, and Aêron reluctantly pulled himself from within her. Emily moaned quietly at the sensation, a sudden emptiness and loss chilling her body and cooling the water against her skin. They fit each other with a perfection that made even the Fallen Gods seethe in jealousy, and Emily could not smother the lazy, contented smirk that sprawled across her red lips and the feline purr that vibrated her throat as Aêron's hands stroked her skin.

She let him pull her floating body to him, humming in her throat as he rested his forehead against hers and smiled down lovingly at her contented face. Her fingers danced trails up his bicep to his face, cupping the hard lines of his jaw as she opened her dark eyes and stared up into the warm whirls of his hazel ones. "I have done honor to my family to have married you," she whispered, kissing him sweetly just because the urge had come to her.

Aêron smiled into the kiss, pulling her into his arms and holding her soft skin against his muscular chest as Emily settled against his neck, a pleased sigh escaping the Lady-Queen's lips. "I fear that you have mistaken this once, sweet wife," he told her teasingly, grinning at the woman when Emily lifted her head to raise an eyebrow at him. "It is I who has gained the unspeakable honor of being your husband and Lord-King. Any other man may writhe and seethe with jealousy at our feet, for I have ensnared the most beautiful maiden of all the lands combined."

Emily scoffed, shaking her head indulgently at her husband; though her cheeks were aflame and her stomach aflutter. A giggle bubbled in her throat despite herself, when the Lord-King waggled his eyebrows. "Whatever will we do when the day comes and you lose your ability to woo your way into my bed," she sighed dryly, eyes sparkling as Aêron leaned down for another searing kiss.

The Lord-King growled into her mouth, backing her against the wall of the bath. A feral grin spread across his face slowly as he pinned her there; a hungry gleam starting once more. "I assure you that no such day will come, Emily mine. No Magyck, dragon or sword will ever chase me from your bed, as nothing shall chase you from mine."

"Nothing?" she drawled, eyebrow arched challengingly.

"Nothing," Aêron rumbled, and took her mouth for his.

Unfortunately for the Lord-King; these were such words famously last spoken.

* * *

**Y'all know what happens next - DRAMA.**


	10. Matters X

The Queen was weary.

Months had passed since the attack on the Limit – it was months since the Lord-King returned to the castle worse for wear. With each passing day, the King's wounds had festered and refused all treatments brought forth by the Mages and the people, and Emily's worry only intensified the weary exhaustion that ravaged her body.

The months would pass in a rush and a blur; no further attack had been made to the kingdom of Thunderfrost, but news had spread across the land, speaking of fallen villages just beyond the borders of the Lord-King's land. The seasons were changing, and spring had come, but Aêron feared there would come more reason to grieve than celebrate. Each passing day, more news reached his ears of his cousin's wicked doings, and the Lord-King was tempted to ride out to meet the Reaper and settle it once and for all.

Aêron had become increasingly temperamental.

At one moment, the Lord-King was as his usual self; calm, even, and mild. The next – his temper roared and spat and hurled objects across rooms and at servants. It was a temper she'd seen once before – in a time before the kingdom and before Emily had ever come to recognize the Ghost King as a man she could love. It came from a time of fear and loneliness and a deep ache of longing for freedom in her chest; a time she vowed to never revisit.

It terrified her.

There were of course, moments in time where the Lady-Queen's own temper had reached its highest limit, and the Queen would bare her own teeth in a rage at her husband; but never had she ever in all her time with Aêron been so afraid of the King.

His eyes would flash an unholy ember; black sparks of malice and rage that almost seemed not to belong to Aêron himself. Just the very thought of staring into his foreign gaze made Emily's stomach churn and her body go rigid, and the Lady-Queen rushed to the bath chambers to empty her stomach.

That was how Jennifer found the Queen when she'd entered the royal chambers with her afternoon meal. "Emily?" she called, and immediately abandoned the tray of food by the desk when weak murmurs came from the adjoining room. The blonde rushed into the bath chambers in a flurry, throwing the door wide open and nearly falling to her knees by the Queen's side. "Fallen Gods – are you alright, Your Grace?" Jennifer exclaimed worriedly, as Emily's back bowed again and her body tensed to expel her morning breakfast.

It took a moment, a long moment of recuperation before Emily could speak once more; when the bitter taste of illness clung to her throat and tongue, but ceased its assault upon her insides. She looked upon her dearest friend's face, and knew by the look that which Jennifer had returned that her own complexion left more to be desired. Emily swallowed and licked her lips, and immediately regretted her actions. "I'm fine," she croaked, though it was obvious Jennifer did not agree. "My body would rebel against me in this time of tension – my husband has slept little, and so have I."

Jennifer frowned, and the lady-in-waiting brushed Emily's hair away from her sweat-damp face to regard the Queen closely. The life of the raven-haired beauty seemed to seep away; her cheeks, where roses once set, were sallow and gaunt, and the stubborn spark of her dark doe eyes had dimmed. The battles she'd fought with the Lord-King were taking their toll, and it made Jennifer's temper roil. She pursed her lips and stroked her thumb across Emily's cheek once, before gently easing the Queen onto her feet.

"The quarrels you have with the King will soon have you taking ill if the fool-King fails to see the damage he causes on his wife!" Jennifer fumed at the ignorance of the Lord-King towards his supposedly beloved wife; the wife he currently was failing to show his affection for. She blustered and huffed and ranted about Aêron's idiocy in her mind, when suddenly the Queen gave a long, pained groan, and doubled over again.

"Emily!" Jennifer cried, fear and alarm and worry ringing clear in the blonde's voice as Emily faltered on her feet and clutched to her stomach in restrained agony. She stared about the room desperately, searching for a way to help her dear friend and Queen, before calling out loudly for the guards posted by the chamber doors. "Help! Your Queen needs help!"

Emily smothered another moan, sweat draining the color from her face once more as her hand clung to Jennifer's so tightly both their knuckles were whitened. "Don't!" she croaked, shaking her head at the lady-in-waiting when Jennifer whirled upon her incredulously. Her chest was tight with pain, sharp and hot and burning as it traveled through her being, but Emily sank her teeth into her lip stubbornly, and forced her blurred vision to focus on the blonde's face.

"They will do me no good," she forced out, teeth clenched like a snarling wolf's as she struggled to right herself. The Lady-Queen stood as tall as capable; leaning heavily upon her once-lover for support as she forced away the riddling pains of her body and staggered over to the bed she shared with the King. Emily let herself fall onto the plush bed, curling into herself almost immediately as she threw the last of her regal standing away and began to shake and twitch from her pain.

There was no one around to witness this; no one but the woman she trusted with her life.

Jennifer all but fell to her knees by the Queen's bed side. "Emily, you hurt!" she cried, and her blue eyes were wide and beginning to fill with tears from watching the raven-haired beauty suffer so. "At least let me call the King, or Mage Reid -."

"What good will they do to a mother with the aches of being with child?!" the Queen snapped suddenly, and their eyes met in the stunned silence that followed.

Emily's chest heaved from her temper; from the beginnings of more nausea in her throat as Jennifer's eyes grew wide and she gaped at the woman in bed. It was difficult to read the blonde's face then – surprise, shock, and hurt mingling in brief intervals on Jennifer's pretty face.

She swallowed thickly, urging the pains to be gone, and to calm them both as she once again spoke, this time calmly. "It was to happen eventually, Jen," she tried to soothe the speechless woman's disbelief, and perhaps her own uncertainties. "I just wasn't prepared for it to happen so soon." Emily looked away, beyond Jennifer and over to her husband's side of the bed. "Now I fear it came in a time most inopportune."

It was a moment before Jennifer could shut her gaping mouth, and another moment for the blonde to blink rapidly as she rushed to make sense to what Emily was saying to her. Her eyes dropped down to the Queen's stomach, hidden under her dress and her hand; tentatively Jennifer reached out with her own, and laid it gently over Emily's stomach.

A gasp, softer than a whisper escaped her lips when Jennifer felt the soft swell of Emily's stomach; the swell kept hidden away from prying eyes by the Queen's flowing gowns and slight figure. Her fingers twitched and shifted uncertainly over Emily's stomach, but the woman merely took the blonde's hand in hers, and pressed it firmer against the place her child slept. Jennifer's eyes snapped back to Emily's face, and saw the tears and the saddened smile.

"Do you fear your husband, O Queen?" she whispered quietly, as their joined hands stroked over Emily's stomach like a trance. Briefly Jennifer felt her chest coil in stupid jealously; envy greener than the fields of Aêron's marriage to Emily and his seed inside her, and then the feeling washed away like a running stream as worry tainted her features instead. The Queen was not meant to weep in sadness when the King's heir would be borne – and yet Emily smiled with such loss now.

She reached up with her free hand; the other still firmly clasped in Emily's over her stomach, she reached up and wiped away the tear that pooled at the corner of the Queen's eye. "Please," she begged, and Emily felt the tug in her chest that made her weep more. "Please do not weep, Emily. Tell me what bothers you so. Your child does not deserve such strain in its mother's wellbeing."

Emily sniffled, and tried her best to deny Jennifer's question, but the blonde would see through her lie as clearly as she saw through a window. "I do not know what I fear, Jennifer," she sighed, and the blonde lady-in-waiting was taken aback by the helplessness in the Queen's voice. Emily was never helpless; never in her life. "It would seem that the King's worries and concern spread across his kingdom with the threat of his cousin drawing nearer, but the battles we wage with each other would point to other uncertainties I feel."

Emily shook her head; when has she lost the power to see into her husband's mind?

Jennifer frowned. "You think the Lord-King grows weary of your company?" When Emily shrugged, Jennifer scoffed incredulously. "Aêron loves you, Emily! Any blind crone knows this! Why – you carry his _child _inside you! The man can only love you more than he already does, and that love is potent as is. Surely you do not doubt this?" Even she, who shared the Queen's bed long before Aêron had, could not deny the Lord-King's love for the raven beauty. Was the Lady-Queen truly beginning to doubt her status at the Lord-King's side, and of Aêron's love for her?

"I could not deny it were it spoken from the words of the wisest in the land," Emily murmured quietly, but her dark eyes were wide and pained. "But why is it that I feel as if I lie beside a stranger in bed at night now?"

* * *

The King was in pain.

His wounds would not heal; no Magyck or poultice or position in which he slept could soothe them – they smarted and stung and wept blood. It made the Lord-King's temper shorter in his prolonged exposure to the pain, and Aêron's people knew it.

Through his day with the council and his people and discussing the politics of his land, the damages suffered from the attacks on the villages, the Lord-King would grow dizzy; like a heat faint, but thicker, headier. Like the drunken mist from mug after mug of wine and ale and moon-whiskey; intoxicating and overwhelming in its ways. It was not uncommon for Aêron, for he was no stranger to the elixir of the Fallen Gods, but what terrified him most about the feelings was the rage that came with it.

He was angry, always.

What was even more terrifying to the Lord-King was that he was angry at _Emily_.

Try as he might; and the crowned man tried with every fiber of his being – he could find no reason for him to be so outraged at his dearly adored wife.

And yet, every sight of Emily brought rising feelings of red rage and anger to his body.

Against his own will, his hands curled into whitened fists at his side at the thought of his wife. He couldn't understand. It was as if his body was no longer his; the movements he made, the words he spoke, they were all dictated by another being – another force. The pain he felt now was no longer what wounds that scarred his body, but the pain that burned in Aêron's chest was the agony of knowing that his anger was directed towards his beautifully brilliant wife.

His wife and Queen: the woman who deserved none of his fury and harsh indifference – only his unending love and fidelity.

Aêron shook his head firmly, decisive. He would make things right; march up to their bedroom, take Emily into his arms and swear upon the names of all the Fallen Gods that he would never lose his temper again. And then he would kiss her, take her lips with all the fiery passion he could muster and then they would make love, and all would be right again.

_Yes_, he thought, as he strode purposefully towards the grand doors of his study chambers and heaved the giant doors open. _Things will be right again. Things will be normal once more._

No sooner did these thoughts cross the Lord-King's mind, did the blinding pain sear across his back like the wicked lash of a dragon's breath. A harsh cry came from Aêron's mouth as he arched in agony, tumbling to the ground and writhing helplessly as his body burned wicked vengeance. The cuts on his back, the bruises on his skin; the marks he'd suffered at the hands on his cousin – they lit into his body anew once more.

His hands scrabbled against the cold stone floor in shuddering desperation, weak as they struggled to drag his bludgeoned body across the floor to the men he knew to be guarding the other side of the doors. His feet betrayed him, his body seized in a desperate effort in relieving itself of the pain, but all this was done in vain.

The sound of cold, hard footsteps on the stone floor behind him sent a petrifying chill down the Lord-King's spine – there was to be no one in the room but Aêron.

He grunted when a boot slammed down against his back sharply, crying out despite himself when it ground into his wounds. It felt odd – airless, and yet heavier than the stones that forged his castle. Aêron forced his palms into the ground, muscles coiling and body fighting to rise against this unseen intruder, but the Lord-King could not raise his body from the cold stone floor beneath him.

"Who are you?" he demanded now instead, as he strained to peer behind him with useless determination. "What matters have you in the castle Thunderfrost?"

A malevolent laugh was the only response to his demands, and the voice that spoke after was unfamiliar, but hauntingly cold in his ear.

"_I believe you keep something of mine in your bed, Aêron. I'm here to take it back."_

* * *

The celebration of the Heir Queen's birthday was joyous and calming to the Queen Consort's weariness. For one night, she could forget the worries that plagued her sleep and simply take joy from watching Arwen play and squeal and laugh. She sat with her fellow royals and peasants alike and ate the cake Cook had painstakingly colored the shade of soft purple, and Emily knew for that moment that all was right. The afternoon was warm and bright, and Emily glances off at the woman standing at her shoulder.

Jennifer's eyes were firmly pinned on the Lord-King, rather; curiously she watched the man seated on the King's throne, seated in a slouch low on his seat with his legs sprawled almost lewdly as he held a mug of wine lazily in one hand. He watched the goings on around him with almost bored indulgence – not the usual mirth and amusement commonly associated with the King and his beloved daughter. His eyes were sharper, keener…_crueler_.

She wondered if the man wearing the crown was truly the King, and not a monster wearing his skin like a mask.

Emily caught the lady-in-waiting's intensely perturbed features, her own pretty face frowning as she reached out and covered Jennifer's hand in hers. When Jennifer looked down at their joined hands, the Lady-Queen caught her eye and held it firmly. "Do not speak a word of it to him," she murmured quietly, a plea and an order, to which the blonde's lips pursed. "He cannot know yet."

Jennifer seemed tempted to tell the Queen that her mind was plagued with different thoughts, but when Emily stared up at her with such wide, beseeching eyes; Jennifer could only swallow her sigh and nod her assent. "As the Queen wishes," she replied lowly, bowing her head at the crowned woman. She did not release the Queen's hand just yet, until Aêron's eye fell upon them, and the Lord-King's eyes darkened at the sight.

"Lady Jennifer." Her name was spoken like leer and a hiss; both Emily and Jennifer tensed at the unfamiliar tone in the King's voice. Never had he spoken her name in such bitter spite. He sat up now, propping the mug of wine upon his knee as he leaned forward towards the two women. "Your duties are not to stand about and caress the Queen's skin. I believe it is _my _Queen you fondle so openly, not yours." He sneered at her, when Jennifer's eyes widened in disbelief and heat streaked her cheeks. "Attend to my children while I speak with my wife."

He stood then, tossing the mug aside, uncaring as the spray of red wine tainted the ground he walked upon; vaguely Emily thought for a horrible moment that it had begun to spread like blood at his feet. Her breath caught in her throat when her husband's dark eyes flashed towards her, but it hitched not in the ways it did usually – most times it was butterflies and delicious breathlessness; now it was fear and uncertainty.

"I believe I said I wished to speak with my wife," he growled lowly, and stood impatiently by the entrance of the castle. The guards stood by and watched in hushed disbelief – never had they seen the Lord-King speak so coldly towards his wife.

Emily stared at Aêron for a long moment, back tense and straight as her dark eyes glazed over into a cool glare. The impatience in Aêron's face was becoming dangerous; the vein in his forehead throbbed and his fingers twitched – he was hiding a profound temper. So the Queen Consort forced steel into her spine as she thrust her chin out and rose calmly from her seat. As she did though, Arwen came running, breathless and grinning…until she saw the look on her father's face. The Lady-Queen's heart clenched when Arwen wrapped her arms around her waist, standing almost protectively in front of her as she peered up at Emily's face.

"Mama, what's wrong?" the Heir Queen asked, all pretenses of happiness and gaiety gone from her young face as she now stared up at her father with wide, anxious eyes. "Why are you angry, Father? She hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Insolent brat!" Aêron barked suddenly, and the girl jolted in fright before whirling to her father fearfully. In a flash, the Lord-King's temper had snapped, and the man marched over to his wife and daughter, catching the cowering girl by the wrist and tugging her harshly away from Emily. He forced her close to him, bending to her height before snarling in his terrified daughter's face. "You do not defy your Lord Father. I am your _King, _and Lady Emily will do as I say, _when _I tell her to."

He released her suddenly, and Arwen tumbled back, falling into a heap as Emily went rushing to her side, lifting the terrified girl to her feet and pressing her protectively into her side. Arwen's eyes were fixed to her father's imposing figure, wide and dark and petrified as tears began to pool and her chest began to heave.

"Aêron, what were you thinking?" Emily exclaimed incredulously, as she bundled the weeping child into her arms and hushed Arwen gently. Her eyes were sharp, heated and spiteful as the Lord-King merely scowled at her; as if they were completely at fault. "She is a child, Aêron! What harm had she done in asking about that wretched temper of yours?"

"She wouldn't have needed reprimanding if you had obeyed," he spat, and Emily reeled as if she'd been struck. But the King would have no more of such petty talk; he whirled on his heels, cape bellowing behind him as he marched towards the castle. When she'd failed to echo his footsteps, Aêron glanced back impatiently, and his next words cut Emily to the core.

"Will you be coming then, _my Queen_, or will you need to cause more disquiet with my children?"

It was like being plunged into icy, bristling water. Emily stood for a moment, dazed and stung viciously at her husband's wicked words as she gaped at him speechlessly. Arwen was still tucked into her side, sniffling fearfully as the man whirled back upon them. Her grip tightened upon the woman's hands, but Emily was calm as she extracted them from her hold and gently eased them into Jennifer's, where the woman had moved to stand defensively at her side.

There was no moment to hesitate further; the noise around them had silenced, and people watched with a hushed terror, and the Queen Consort swallowed the lump of tears and bile and hate in her throat before she took one step forward.

"Of course, your Grace," she uttered slowly, and her voice was even and unfeeling as she began to match the Lord-King's footsteps towards the castle she shared with him now. When she stood toe-to-toe with the crowned man and his thunderous face, Emily's gaze was dark and genuinely spiteful. "A Queen never leaves her King waiting."

The Lord-King smirked coldly, and it was then Emily knew that whoever this was before her; he was certainly _not _her King and beloved husband. "So finally the Great Emilynne Prentiss learns her place."

* * *

The grand doors of the royal bedchambers boomed open, and after it tumbled the radiant Queen of the Thunderfrost kingdom, staggering to her knees and crumbling where her husband had shoved her. He'd manacled her wrist in his powerful grip and practically dragged her down the hallways, despite Emily's cries and pleas and outraged yells. It was as if he'd gone deaf and mad with rage, as he stood over his fallen spouse imperiously now as the doors shut behind him.

"You always had a taste for defiance, didn't you, Emily," he spouted viciously, barely sparing the woman a moment to collect herself before he had her wrists in his hand once move, nearly crushing the delicate bone as he hauled her onto the bed carelessly. "There was always a need for you to _defy _and to _deny_ what you truly are."

Emily cried out as she fell upon the bed, whirling immediately as she lashed a foot out and caught Aêron in the chest. She kicked with all her might, scrabbling off the bed and onto her feet as the man stumbled backwards. Her chest heaved with fear, anger, disbelief; it bundled into a ball coiled tight in her stomach as she faced her King now. Her eyes darted desperately around the room, searching for a weapon, searching for an escape if need be as Aêron straightened himself with a maniacal laugh.

"Oh, I forgot how much of a fighter you truly are, Emily." Suddenly his voice was haunting familiar in her ears; lilting and low, Irish and not the sweet, soothing thrum of her loving Aêron of Thunderfrost. The man that stood, hands flexing almost eagerly at his side across the room – this was not the Lord-King of the Five Realms.

This was _not _the man she loved.

"Aêron," she whispered, and Emily hated herself for the quiver in her voice. "Aêron, please. Please; this is not you who speaks such words – these things that you feel are not of your own!" Gods help her – help her husband see that he meant none of these vile words he spoke. "You are ill, Aêron. Your wounds drain you and your worries for the kingdom make you -."

He crossed the threshold of the room with startling speed; he struck her with the back of his hand with alarming strength. The sheer strength of his slap sent Emily tumbling back against the bed, and he fell after her, pinning her there as he watched with gleaming eyes as her lip began to bleed.

The wedding ring on his finger bore the mark of her blood like a jewel.

Emily is shaking with genuine fear now as her husband hovered above her, pinning her wrists to the bed and breathing hotly against her skin. A sob caught in her throat and Emily's face morphed into a pained mask as she turned away from the heated glare of Aêron's dark whirls of hazel. She could taste her blood on her lips; she screamed out in disgust when he reached down and kissed her mouth hard, thrashing frantically under his bruising hold.

"Aêron, _please_!" she begged, and Emily found the strength of her lungs as a deafening scream ripped from her chest when she felt his nails sinking into her skin as he ripped at her dress ruthlessly. Fine silk and whalebone parted like damp paper in his grasp; the monstrous strength of the Lord-King was unveiled. Tears bled heatedly down her face as she struggled and writhed and bucked under his body, searching for any way to remove herself from under him, but Aêron's weight and her fatigue were an uneven match.

Her sobs echoed through the room; amidst the ripping of cloth and snapping of laces – the beast was intent on marking her skin.

"Why are you doing this?" she whimpered, when his mouth dropped to her neck and bare chest possessively. "Whatever that I have done to offend you, Aêron, I apologize for; but please, _please_ stop this! This is not my King who acts in such violence!" Her lower lip quivered and her chest shook with her sobs as her nails did what they could to sink into his arm, his chest; his senses. He took another strangled sob from her throat as his teeth dragged down her porcelain skin, marking it red and brash against the cream. Every touch burned, if not from the brutal way he fondled her skin then from the pain she felt in the very act itself. He paused then, pulled back as if in confusion, and Emily prayed hard that her husband had finally come to his senses.

His grip seemed to loosen on her skin, and Emily thought she saw a flash of the man she loved in his dark eyes. But what hope she had left in her chest died away like flame in the breeze when Aêron threw his head back and laughed.

The sound chilled her to the very bone, and Emily felt her heart sinking heavily into her stomach when he opened his eyes once more and they flashed an unforgiving black. He dropped down over her suddenly; his face hovering not inches away from hers as he sneered at her cowering terror. His body was hard and tense above her, coiled like a snake preparing for the death strike as he forced his hips between her legs.

"Your King does as he pleases," he spat, and somehow the mad King manacled her wrists in one strong grip while he grasped at her modest underthings and ripped them from her body. Emily flinched, her body tense and her thighs snapping shut as he cupped her possessively; Aêron laughed as he forced her thighs apart and his fingers bruised against her sensitive skin. "I will not have my wife deny me." He unsnapped the fastening of his breeches, and suddenly Emily felt the paralyzing terror engulf her body.

Her only thought now was for the unborn life she held in her womb.

"I'm surprised at you, Emily," he said then, and Emily's body went rigid when she felt the heat of his erection brush against her inner thigh. "You used to have a lot more fight in you than this. Have the days of glory and splendor ruined your warrior soul?"

The mockery in his tone burned deep in her chest; brought forth the horrible memories of her past as Emily swallowed the tears that threatened to blind her and she gathered the last of her strength to speak. She needed to tell him this – she needed him to know the truth.

"Aêron, please," she murmured, as he caressed her face in an almost loving stroke. "Aêron, I'm -."

And then all she could feel was blinding agony.

* * *

He thrust forward violently, forcing his way inside her uncaring of the resistance there. He gripped her skin hard enough to welt it red and purple even then as Emily screamed and lay paralyzed under him. He brutalized her like a ragdoll; harsh and breathless and vicious as he palmed her breasts and gripped her hips in a blind search for his own pleasure. One hand was at her hip; the other wrapped maliciously around her taut neck as he forced himself inside her again and again, growling at the lack of moisture between her legs.

He slid forward into the very hilt and held there, and Emily saw the white flash of pain burst under her eyelids.

Finally her mouth parted and her lungs rushed with air, and Emily let out a soul-deep sob as Aêron dropped his face into her hair and panted like a dog over her. Her hands gripped the material of his shirt desperately as he moved; her nails found his skin under and dug hard enough to bleed. She'd never felt such agony before in her life; not when she was younger, not when her family and home were burned to ashes before her eyes. Her hands clawed frantically at his skin, seeking respite, seeking leverage….

Aêron was ruthless still.

Gradually, perhaps from the friction, or her own body's urge to defend itself from the unrelenting attack, the King's thrusts were guided with a slick, hot wetness; one Aêron took full advantage of and forced Emily's thighs higher upon his hips as he melded their hipbones together in a brutal grind. "Has this been a fantasy of yours, Emily?" he mocked her breathlessly, laughing in her face when Emily let out a pained moan. "Do you not enjoy your King in all his glory? Does this not _thrill _you?"

He grunted as he thrust hard, and Emily went scooting up the bed in a pained cry. "Is this not the natural state of your glorious King? To _take, _and to _take, _and to _hurt_." He thrust in deep and held there, shaking on his arms as Emily's body clenched hard to resist the intrusion. The woman looked away, ashamed and disgusted as she squeezed her eyes shut tight and begged for it to end.

But the King was not nearly as forgiving.

He grasped her chin, forcing her to face him as he squeezed the bone hard enough for her to gasp in pain, and when her eyes snapped open onto his, she saw the cold, bottomless pits of his eyes bleeding into her. "You will look at me when I pleasure you," he hissed slowly, sharply as he began to move once more; his hips moving in rough, short thrusts as his own pleasure burned maddeningly at the edge of his toes.

His grip on her chin remained. "Does this not please you, your Majesty? You're so quiet." His fingers dug into her cheeks, Emily could find no strength to cry out as she stared emotionlessly into his eyes. "Tell me I please you."

"You please me, O King," she repeated, but the words were mechanical and cold; Emily did not speak the words – Emily was gone inside herself. It was the only thing she could do; to protect herself, to protect the unborn child that they'd made out of love and happiness and peace.

The child she made _not _with the beast inside her now.

His thrusts intensified, and he tensed above her in a low, guttural roar as his release robbed his thoughts and spread thickly between them. He crumbled atop her with little care for her; crushing her chest and denying her air as he gathered his own breath. In a moment, he heaved himself back onto his hands and pulled himself from her roughly, moving off the bed with an almost impatient stride.

He felt a peculiar wetness upon the skin of his manhood; thicker, somehow, hotter. Frowning, confused, he looked down…and smiled in a cold, pleased surprise.

Blood.

It matted the front of his breeches and the coarse hair between his legs; when he looked upon the bed and the silently weeping woman there; saw the blood spread on the sheets and where it came from the woman's legs. The King laughed, a cold and harsh sound, and Emily whimpered as she curled tighter into herself. She curled away from her husband….

Away from the beast.

He straightened his breeches and left his tunic to fall haphazardly over the bloodied mess that was his front, casting a sneering scowl in Emily's direction. "You'll bear me an heir now, won't you Emily?" He moved towards the door and held it open in one hand, glancing over his shoulder at the naked woman callously.

"And this time, I'll be sure that you don't kill it."


	11. Matters XI

Jennifer moved through the halls of the great castle like the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. Perhaps they were; her long stride moved even faster as her heart began to pound and there was an uncomfortably painful clench in her chest. The children had refused to cease fussing for their Mama; Arwen had demanded with all the authority she had as Heir-Queen that Jennifer seek out her parents and ensure there be peace between them, and the blonde lady-in-waiting could not deny her.

Her shoes clattered noisily against the stone but she wasn't running, no – Ladies did not run, but at the moment Jennifer couldn't have cared any more for etiquette than she did for her damnably uncomfortable shoes.

She needed to get to the Queen. She knew not why, but she had to.

By the Fallen Gods, she needed to.

No sooner had the lady-in-waiting reached the doors of the royal chamber, grasped the handles of the great doors in her slender hands, the doors pulled open from the inside, and revealed the Lord-King himself.

Only he wasn't Aêron.

Jennifer swallowed a gasp in her throat as she blinked and stared hard at the Lord-King's face, peering intently at the dark hair and eyes. It was only a moment ago; one split second previously when she regarded his face and saw cold, icy blue eyes and a curling scowl stare back at her. She swallowed thickly and curtsied stiffly, bowing her head in the slightest at the man before her. "Your…Grace."

Aêron glanced at her coldly, sneering at her over his nose at her probing blue gaze and brushing past the woman impatiently. "Your Queen is resting," he uttered sharply. "She'll have no energy to 'attend' to you for a long while." Then his mouth curved into a terrifying smirk, and he was gone with a spin of his heels.

The blonde's mouth parted in surprised hurt; he gave her no further indulgence as he marched away to his study and left Jennifer's mind reeling at his words.

What had he done to Emily?

There was a weak moan from beyond the doors, and Jennifer's heart began to pound as she rushed to the royal chamber doors and pushed them open. Jennifer's gasp echoed through the room, horror clear in her voice when she saw the crumpled figure left abandoned on the bed.

"Emily!"

The Queen moaned weakly, her pale body marked by her husband's heartless hands and mouth. Blood, stark red and plenty, seeped from between her legs and spread across the virginal white of the sheets around her. Emily opened her eyes, and met the horrified gaze of her beloved friend. "Close the door, please," she whispered quietly, as she struggled to gather the sheets around her body. "They cannot see their Queen like this."

They cannot see what their King had done.

Jennifer gaped at the lady Queen in horror, as her frantic hands bundled the sheets tight between Emily's legs and hoped to stem the flow of bright red. "Emily, oh, Fallen Gods – love, what has that monster done to you?!" Panic made her blue eyes look terrifying to the Queen, made her heart pound in her chest and her lungs clench with fear as Jennifer grasped Emily, held her gently where Aêron's fingerprints rested red and purple on her soft skin.

"Guards!" she screamed – shrieked with all her soul as Emily's eyes fluttered weakly. "GUARDS, TO YOUR QUEEN!"

Emily tried her best to protest, to deny her commands, but Jennifer's loud wail carried through, and three guards burst into the chamber; swords and lances at the ready. When they saw the state of their Queen, they weren't sure what to do. Dumbfounded and struck with horror, they stood there like statues, gaping in shock for a moment until Jennifer snapped at them viciously for their insolence.

"I did not summon you to stand there like mindless pignuts!" she spat at them, eyes wide and terrifying. "Summon the Mage immediately – summon Captain Morgan as well. Have them at our feet this very moment or so help me I will have your insides hanging from a spear on the castle walls!"

They nodded their heads vigorously, quaking in their boots at the sheer power of the woman's words, but Jennifer's sharp voice cut the air when they began to hurry out of the room.

Her eyes were dark now when she spoke; her words low and harsh, spat like the venom of the most deadly dragon of the land. "You will not let the Lord-King anywhere near this chamber for as long as I command it, do you understand?" she growled lowly, and her eyes flashed when they hesitated. She was but a lady-in-waiting – could they defy their loyalties to the King for a woman her stature? "Your loyalty is placed in the monster that did this. You would allow him to do so again?"

They gulped – all three of them, and nodded obediently at her. "Yes, milady."

"Now go – go! Get me the Mage! Get me the Captain! Bar the doors once they've come! I will not have our Queen suffer at the hands of that monster again."

* * *

Mage Reid sat at the foot of the royal bed, eyes darting nervously and fingers twitching uncertainly as the bony joints ghosted the Queen Consort's skin. "I apologize if I hurt you further, my Queen," he stuttered, when Emily flinched at his touch on her knee. "B-but I must examine you to ensure that there is no further damage."

Emily swallowed the clot in her throat, the tears and the fear and the shame as she nodded once, and forced herself to let the young Mage part her thighs. Her breath hitched again when she felt his fingers brush her inner thigh, and she gripped tight at Jennifer's hand. "Mage Reid," she said suddenly, sitting up slightly to stare down at the terrified young man with her own dark, panicked gaze. "I…I carry the King's child." She inhaled sharply at the tense air in the room; the dark looming figure who stood like a brewing storm beside Jennifer who only tightened his arms around his chest.

"Please," she whispered, and her eyes began to well. She searched Reid's face desperately, shaking as she struggled to smother the sob in her chest. "Please, tell me my child lives still."

_Please, tell me I can keep this child. Tell me I did not fail my child yet again._

Reid swallowed thickly but nodded his head. Quietly he pushed back the sheets around the Queen's legs, and began his examination.

Emily was quiet for the most part; the room still and thick with tense rage and the smell of blood and sex as Reid inspected the damage. There was tearing, he announced, after a long moment. He would need to stitch the tearing to heal her, and Emily had merely nodded her head and looked away, gripping Jennifer's hand tight in her shaking hand.

Swallowing nervously again, Mage Reid gathered what he needed, and began to stitch.

The Queen winced or hissed every so often, or flinched when a touch was too intense, but did little else as Jennifer stroked her hand, her hair; whispering sweet soothing promises into her ear. The blonde clung to her hand like a lifeline, pressing kisses to Emily's palm whenever the ebony-haired Queen would whimper.

"It will be over soon," she promised gently, stroking the soft skin in circles as the Mage laid aside his needle and thread, and the damp cloth he'd used to clean away the blood.

Respectfully, he pulled the sheets back over her legs, and rested a soothing hand on her knee with a wan, uncertain smile. "You will heal fast," he murmured, and his eyes darted down to her stomach; the soft swell obvious under the sheet wrapped tight around her body. "May I…rest my hand on your stomach? I can only read a life force if I am in contact with it," he told her apologetically, bowing his head when Emily tensed at the mention of her child.

Emily licked her dry lips, tasting her blood and where Aêron had bit down on her lip. "Y-yes," she uttered finally, and inhaled deeply as Reid laid his hand gently over her stomach. The Magister's apprentice moved his hand about the gentle curve of her stomach; feeling, testing, sensing the child that she prayed and wished still lived within her. Emily's dark eyes snapped to the silently fuming man at Jennifer's side.

"Derek," she whispered, and Morgan detached from the shadows readily. Her eyes met his, the flaming embers that told her his intentions of killing the Lord-King and making him feel every last moment of it. She would have none of it though – to Emily, the monster that had done this to her wasn't Aêron. It wasn't the man that she knew and loved. "Derek, you must never tell anyone – not the children, not Penelope; not Rossetti."

He nodded – he had no intentions of speaking of the incident.

"You must never – _never, _Derek, and I mean what I say – you must never lay your hands on your King."

His eyes blazed at her, anger and indignation rolling off his broad shoulders as he stared down at the Queen incredulously. "He took what he wanted from you and threatened the life of your child inside you!" he blustered. "He laid his mark so dark on your skin that you wear the brand under your flesh. The _beast _ravaged you without a thought about the sacred life you carry inside you and yet you would protect his dignity when he had no care for yours?!"

It was almost as if Emily's fire had returned to her dark eyes, but the flames didn't burn nearly anywhere as fierce. It was something though – it gave them hope. "He is still your King and my husband!" she snapped, and she felt her chest heave and her body thrum with pain. Reid laid a gentle hand on her midriff again, and Emily felt the warmth spread across her body as it healed her aching muscles. She exhaled heavily, and kept her gaze unwavering on Morgan's face.

"I cannot lie to you and say that I can look upon his face," she murmured quietly, almost reluctantly. "But he is our King, and we swore fealty to him and his kingdom. If…." She looked away, down at where Reid had his hand resting almost curiously on her stomach, peering intensely into the space beside her. "If I carry his heir still, I carry his bloodline inside me, and I will bear the beatings and the burdens of suffering at his hand, if it means that my child would have his father."

Derek opened his mouth to speak again, to rant and rave and spew curses of the Lord-King, but Jennifer's quiet voice stilled his tongue, and her hard look told him that she would not tolerate any further aggravation of the Queen Consort. He sighed, heavily, irritably, but bowed his head at the Queen. "Yes, my Queen," he uttered lowly, and his dark eyes met hers in a softer promise.

_I will keep you safe. By the Gods – I will rend his skin from his bones with my bare hands if he hurts you again._

"Oh," Reid said suddenly, pressing his hand into her stomach. His young face was pulled into a frown, his mouth curved in confusion as he laid his hand wider across the span of Emily's stomach. "Oh my…."

Emily sat up in bed, panic welling in her chest and tears anew in her swollen red eyes as she stared at the man anxiously. "What is it, Reid? What's wrong with my child?" She clung to Jennifer's hand tight, so tight her hands were numb, but Jennifer merely squeezed back.

_Please, please, __**please**__…. Please let my baby live._

Reid bit his lip uncertainly, darting a glance at the battered Queen and the wide-eyed, desperate hope in her face as she sat amidst the sheets of her own blood; covered in bruises from her husband. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her – honestly he didn't know how -, but would the news stoke the flames of the Lord-King's temper?

"My Queen…," he began slowly. "Your child…."


	12. Matters XII

The study chambers of the great Lord-King clattered open noisily, granting the crowned man access before falling shut behind him obediently. The room was silent, devoid of outside disturbances courtesy of the young Mage. As Lord-King, Aêron often needed and wanted the privacy and silence of solitude for his musings and works, and Mage Reid had successfully charmed the room into isolating all noises from it. The man that stood in the large room was now isolated from the rest of his people.

He was isolated from the rest of the kingdom.

Aêron inhaled heavily as he stood amidst his papers and parchments; hands flexing at his side as his dark eyes scanned the steady room. In his eyes was a sort of curious scrutiny; as if the Lord-King had never seen the inside of his study chambers before, and Aêron's dark eyes darted towards where Nyramir sat, sheathed and humming silently in the space of his parchment-strewn desk. His hand flexed at his side, tempted as he seemed to reach out for the blade, but then the Lord-King turned away instead to face the mirror in the far corner of the room.

In slow, careful strides, Aêron placed himself before the mirror. He grinned at his reflection – the crowned man with cold dark eyes and a harsh smirk on his face. He reached up to his face, skimming the contours of his face, the jut of his chin and the dip of his cheeks as if they were new parts of him.

And perhaps they were.

"_Vanity ill-suits you."_

The languid, oily voice was familiar and mocking, and the Lord-King glanced into the mirror where a man sat reclined in his chair. The man shared Aêron's eyes, but little else. His gaze was cold, his smirk mocking and vile, and his hair greying by his temples. He grinned, though it was a creature's baring of teeth; yellow, sharp, and cruel as he inclined his head at the Lord-King. "Hello, Aêron. I hope you don't mind – all the other seats were taken."

"Not at all," the King replied, a lilting brogue in his words. Aêron smiled then – a vicious gash of teeth. "Hello, _cousin_."

George Foyet spared him a bare smile, chuckling under his breath as he straightened in the Lord-King's seat, clicking his tongue at Aêron as the man strode towards him and moved to the sprawling shelves of parchment. "You were greedy," he called after the crowned man, watching in mild amusement as the man seemed engrossed in the blood marking his ring. "I told you scare her, shove her around a little; not leave her bleeding in their marriage bed," George chided the man, leaning back and watching the man now as Aêron spun to face him.

"She deserved it," Aêron spat, and the raw power rolled off his shoulders like tangible black coils of poison as his eyes glowed a cold blue. "The whore knew she was mine to keep, and yet she somehow managed to crawl from underneath my hold and go running with her tail between her legs to this idiot-King." He snorted derisively, scowling in disgust at himself before glaring at George impatiently. "She deserved more than what I did – she should be bleeding to death and begging for mercy, not writhing and moaning from a rutting she was too weak for." He scowled. "She's spoilt rotten now."

Aêron swept a hand across his body impatiently again, huffing angrily. "Get me out of this body – I'm tired of it," he demanded.

The Lord-King of Thunderfrost had power, oh so much power in his body and his grasp – and yet such weak a soul. Kings and warriors did not tremble at the whim of their wives and Queens – they were nothing but bed-warmers and loins between which their heirs were produced. They were nothing but breeding cattle and warmth providers, and it irked him to know that Emily was treated like the royalty demanded of her bloodline.

He'd put her back in her place though; but he wanted to do so in his own skin.

George titled his head in amusement. "Why, here I thought you were basking in your new physique," he mocked the man, chuckling low in his chest as he shook his head condescendingly at the fuming man. "Does his endowment make you feel inadequate?"

When the shell of a Lord-King merely glowered at him dangerously, George sighed dramatically. "Very well," he waved a hand at Aêron, flicking his wrist as if to rid his fingers of water. "Be done with his form then."

It felt like he was being torn out of his own body.

Aêron crumbled to the ground, writhing and screaming in loud, confused agony as something within him pulled itself from his body. It ripped and shred and tore at his insides; flames licking his limbs as he watched in mortified silence as the man in his reflection materialized from his body, dressed as he, crowned as he.

Eoin Doyle was not traditionally appealing to women of the courts. Cold, harsh eyes, and a wicked smile; his charm and his brogue were his weapons - charm and wits. He was a charismatic man when he wanted to be; cruel and wicked and single-minded most days. What he wanted, he got, and had a bit of a temper when he didn't. He brushed aside the fleck of non-existent dust from the royal garb he wore, mouth twisted cruelly into a smirk as he watched the dark haired King writhe in agony at his feet.

Their clothes were identical - the bloodstains were fresh.

"I forgot how sweet a taste of Emily's skin was," he said, and Aêron struggled lethargically on the floor as the pain riddled his limbs and rendered him bound to the marble. The King tried, truly, the poor man tried his very best to fight the agony; so much so it amused Doyle to watch the myriad of pained masks flit across Aêron's face. He had to give the Lord-King credit - fighting a losing battle, it amused him. A hollow chuckle rumbled in his chest when Aêron summoned the courage and strength to glare at his dripping scorn.

"It's so much sweeter than I remember." He bent on a knee, grasping the man's dark hair in his hand and grinning vilely when Aêron cried out. "You've spoiled her rotten, Aêron. A whore like the Queen deserves no more than she deserved - what we bestow upon her."

Aêron grunted as he glared at Doyle through the whites of his eyes; like a terrified but belligerent horse as he writhed on the floor against invisible bindings. "Be wary how you speak of the Queen, beast!" he spat, baring his teeth. He was practically frothing at the mouth like a maddened hound – his body vibrating with the mad urge to defend his wife's dignity and rip these men from their bones. They dare to penetrate the walls of his kingdom – defy the charms cast around the castle and its sprawling kingdom that protected them from the dark Magyck of his cousin's doings.

Whatever they wanted, they had the manpower to get it, and the thought terrified him to think that this man wanted to harm Emily.

Doyle laughed coldly, and forced Aêron's back in a tighter arch as he threatened to rip the King's thick hair from his skull. His face was bare inches from Aêron's; his hot breath a foul stench in the King's nostrils as he hissed at the man spitefully. "That whore you keep in your bed is _mine_, you understand me, fool-King? She was mine and she will always be mine, and no matter how many of those vile children you put inside her – she. Is. Mine."

He slammed Aêron back against the floor, sneering at the loud crack of the King's head connecting with the ground, and stalked around his prone figure. "Actually – she will never bear you heirs, _O Wise King_." He laughed cruelly at the man and raised the hand that bore the same wedding ring Aêron wore on his own hand.

The one jewel that sparkled with the blood of his precious wife.

"Even if she let you anywhere near her after this; there is only so much time can heal."

The Lord-King's eyes were wide, black with terrified realization and hysteria. His hands and feet struggled uselessly on the ground, pinned and bound there by unseen hands.

His hands were covered in his wife's blood.

"No."

The King was disgusted, appalled, horrified. It couldn't be - he would never - he - he -

He loved her!

"No!" His cry was hoarse, deep, resonating from the soul inside him that writhed and roiled in the horror of knowing that his hands - his body - had laid ache to his beloved wife's body. "I would never hurt Emily! I would never lay wounds upon my wife!"

He loved her, by the Fallen Gods; he loved her with all the strength of his being and his soul. He would not have taken from her so ruthlessly - so – so _beastly_.

Tears were blinding his vision as the man above him laughed, and Aêron roared from the very heart of his soul. "I LOVE HER!"

Eoin was unfazed, his mouth nearly split in half as he reached down and caressed the spread of blood on Aêron's tunic with a morbid form of affection. "Love cannot survive such poison, Aêron. I made sure of that."

There was a chiding noise coming from his royal seat; Aêron strained to see who it was chuffing and chuckling simultaneously at them. When his eyes finally found the form folded neatly in his seat, his spine locked cold and his blood boiled. He knew those eyes, that smile and those hands that wove potent curses and Magyck with a dangerous lack of effort.

It was the very same man who shared his blood and shed it upon the cold stone floor those years ago.

"Now, Doyle," George chided the man again, shaking his head slowly. "It's cruel of you to torture the boy so." He pushed himself out of the seat and strode languidly over to his cousin, grinning down at Aêron as the man struggled to keep the sobs of horror from his throat. "Aêron, Aêron," he clucked his tongue at the crowned man, shaking his head at the Lord-King. "What would your father think, if he saw you lying on the ground like a bearskin rug? And all for a woman!"

"I'm more curious about what his father would have to say about what he's done to his wife," Doyle uttered, grinning wickedly at the way Aêron's face would crumble at the mention. "Is that what he taught you, Aêron? How to hurt and to mark and claim like you did? I must admit – half of what we did to her came from your own subconscious. I had very little to do with it." He grinned wider and the horror on Aêron's face.

Torturing the King was much easier than they could've hoped.

They laughed and they howled and they jeered, and the Ghost-King was nearly driven insane by the very thought of him being the monster to have forced himself between Emily's legs. Surely their words could not be true? Had he been the one to have conjured these thoughts against his wife and One Half – the woman who had become one of his main reasons for living and ruling the kingdom? Had he become the animal he'd always feared?

It couldn't be – his loyalty and love for Emily was one he would put above his own life! How could he have thought of harming her so – _abusing _her so – when he felt nothing but love and affection and joy in their marriage?

These answers could not be considered for long – there was a vicious pounding at the doors of his study chambers, and the three men looked towards the door; two of them scowling and the other straining with desperate hope. Let the pounding be his guards; let there be people standing just beyond his doors be armed and ready to burst through those doors and fight for their King and country.

In a flash of irritable glares and scowling faces, Eoin and George glanced one last time at the struggling King before they were gone. Dark, stifling clouds suffocated Aêron as he stared at the space where the men had once been. The room was silent, and the Lord-King was alone once more. Battered, bruised, and horrified, Aêron struggled to his feet; his legs buckled under him, weak and wounded – his body wracked with the agonies of his wounds.

And so the Great King crawled on his knees. He crawled like the worthless monster he felt himself to be.

Painfully, agonizingly slow; Aêron dragged himself to his feet with the aid of the door, and finally upright once more, the Lord-King heaved a desperate breath. His lungs were battered in his chest – physically, emotionally – he could find no strength to breathe.

With one arduous heave, he pulled the door open.

Captain Morgan stood there before him, a darker mask upon his face than the Lord-King had ever seen.

Aêron leaned against the door in relief, sagging weakly upon the wooden panel. "Oh, praise be the Fallen Gods, Morgan…."

"I cannot say I can begin to understand what beastly things had crossed your mind when you took her." His cold, brutal growl had the Lord-King's spine grow cold. "Perhaps you saw it fit to take what was rightly yours, regardless of the love you claim to feel for the Queen." Morgan's eyes were black like death, his teeth bared like the royal beast as he stepped into Aêron's space and snarled into his face.

"_But know that the only thing keeping my hands from your throat is that damned crown upon your head."_

Aêron's horror was almost tangible; no color could be seen upon his face, his dark, expressive eyes wide in childlike fear. "Did I -." He choked, bile burning hot in his throat as tears began to blind him. His heart plunged into his stomach like a boulder, coiled, cold and nauseating as the dark reality of what he'd done seemed to haunt him with flashes of his beloved wife screaming under him; begging him to stop, to please stop – _Aêron._

He sobbed. "Gods, tell me I did not!" he begged.

The darker man was unforgiving. "You would dare take me for a fool when your Queen lies wounded and _bleeding _in your marriage bed?!" he thundered incredulously; the room vibrating with the raw power of his body. The King was truly wicked – how could he not have seen it before? For the crowned man to play ignorant and innocent when he knew that those hands and that mouth had laid such brutal lashings on Emily's skin that the woman would bruise for weeks.

In his rage, blinded so he was by the memories of Emily bloody and bruised and weeping, begging him not to harm the beast they called their King; Morgan snarled as he lashed out. His hand caught the Lord-King around the neck, slamming Aêron hard enough against the door to bring stars to his eyes.

He leaned in close to Aêron's sputtering face; his growl hot on the King's tearstained cheeks. "You'd best count the blessings given to you by your Gods, _O King_," he growled. "If the heirs inside the Queen hadn't lived, I would rend your flesh from your bones and mount your head upon my wall – as I do with all the _beasts _I slay."

He released Aêron in a rough jerk, and the Lord-King crumbled to the ground against the door in a breathless gape. Morgan glowered at the crumbled heap he called his King, sneering at the man as he spat at Aêron's feet. "You will keep your distance from the Queen for now, Your Grace." Morgan's eyes were cold and brutal; the focus of a warrior. "You know by experience I keep my promises."

With a spin of his heels, Morgan was gone, and Aêron was left to stare after him as he disappeared down the long hallway. Over and over, Morgan's words played in his head; played like a haunting war beat in his ears – a death march for the King as the weight of his Captain's words sank heavy in his chest like black, cold dread.

Heirs.

His heirs.

"_Oh Gods."_


	13. Matters XIII

The King and Queen lived like strangers thereafter.

When Aêron summoned the courage and swallowed the shame, he returned to the royal chambers, and found the room empty. The bed was clean, devoid of any traces of what he'd done to her, and the room untouched. From thereon, he slept in his bed and Emily in hers; in the chambers she kept as the governess. Every night he would walk the corridors of her chambers – every night he would meet Morgan standing guard by her door and Sergio growling lowly at him in threat.

Lady Jennifer never left the Lady-Queen's side – day and night, in bed and otherwise. Where the Queen went, the lady-in-waiting went; as did the captain of the royal guard and the royal panther. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how early he rose from bed or how late, Aêron could never find Emily within the castle walls.

They were never within breathing space of each other.

His children; the Heir-Queen and the Crown Prince who adored their father, were never allowed to be alone with the Lord-King. Although there was hardly a time they came to him any longer – rarely did they ever choose to leave the Lady-Queen's side.

The King made no protest to these circumstances. It was the punishment he felt necessary for what he'd done to Emily. Every ache his body burned with, every drip of his blood from his stubborn wounds was an agony he welcomed – anything that hurt him until he was certain it would redeem him of his title.

He was their King.

He was their father.

He was her husband.

But until he could look upon his reflection in a mirror and see himself as Aêron once more, he was simply the beast who'd defiled the Queen.

* * *

The distance tortured the Queen.

With every passing day, the longer she was away from Aêron. Every moment of her day spent being ushered this way and that – anything and everything done to keep her away from the Lord-King, so much so Emily was on the verge of losing her temper unto the people who were trying their best to protect her.

She wanted her husband with her.

She wanted the father of her children with her.

Jennifer thought the idea blasphemous. "That monster is not coming anywhere near you," she denied heatedly, moving to the Queen's side as Emily moved out of bed towards the balcony. She wrapped her arm protectively around Emily's waist, resting her hand gently on the Queen's stomach where the royal heirs lay. "It would do nothing but drain you of your energy and worry the lives you carry inside you."

Twins were a rarity, Mage Reid had told them. The royal bloodline had not seen the birth of multiple heirs in centuries; not since the time before the Tyrant. The birth of her children would mean the rise of the Prentiss bloodline once more, and the dawn of the age of the panther.

Emily frowned at the blonde, brows pinched as her body twinged at the movement as she walked out onto the balcony. Staying in bed, locked away in her chambers; she felt like a prisoner in the castle she'd sworn to rule and protect. The balcony was her escape, her freedom from the stifling arms of Morgan and Jennifer and the haunting shadow of her husband.

"I am healed enough to speak with the man bound to me," she told Jennifer firmly, as the warm afternoon air and green pastures soothed her restlessness. "You know as well as I do, Jennifer - you know it deep inside - that what happened to me that day...that beast was not Aêron."

Jennifer was adamant still. "How do you know?" she countered, as she guided the Queen into her favored part of the balcony that overlooked the castle grounds. She lowered Emily onto the divan, stepping back as Emily sighed in relief against the soft recline. "Now you carry his heir inside you - two of them -, you would imagine him to be at your beck and call; submitting to your every whim. Instead he hides inside that study of his and broods like the beast of Minos in his labyrinth of books."

The Queen looked unamused. "You know he's been trying to reach me," she snapped, and Jennifer looked chastened. "Every night, I hear him walk the halls outside my chambers, just as he had before we were wed. Every night I hear Morgan's words and Sergio's growls - you think keeping my husband away from me will somehow soothe my aches and worries and fears, when in reality you do nothing but drain me further of what little strength I have left."

"Your Grace," the blonde pleaded with her, her pretty face flustered now as the Queen glared at her bitterly. Surely she could see why they did so - keeping Aêron away from her was for the best. How were they to be sure that the King would not lay his hands upon his wife once more? What was to become of the lives inside her should Aêron decide to sate his thirst for her blood more?

"Emily, he _raped_ you!" The Queen flinched at the word, and Jennifer was immediately contrite. "I would sooner see myself burned at the stake and then quarter before I let that monster lay his hands upon you again."

Gently she laid her hand over Emily's, stroking the skin there as Emily stared thin-lipped out at the castle courtyard. The stable boys were gathering with the guards once more; training for the battlefield. "Emily," Jennifer's soft voice was quiet and thick, and Emily met her speaking gaze.

Jennifer's blue eyes were grim; gentle, but grim. "I understand why you would refuse to accept what he'd done to you." Her hand slid into Emily's palm, and she squeezed the Queen's slender hand gently. "But sometimes it's the person we love most that would hurt us the deepest."

There was shouting coming from the courtyard, a calling of the men into a circle. Emily watched wordlessly as the men gathered in a loose circle around a lone figure standing in the middle; the man who wore a white tunic that bore the bleeding trails of his wounds upon his back.

Aêron.

The men around him held weapons. His hands were empty.

"Leave me," Emily told the blonde, releasing Jennifer's hand and curling her hands into her lap as she watched the first man circle her husband. "I wish to be alone."

Jennifer glanced down to where the King stood, calm, unmoving; watching as a man with a sword circle him. It was unclear if he was intent on defending himself from the attack, and Jennifer did not feel any concern for his safety then. Leave him to be battered; leave him to his punishments. "You know I cannot -."

"You will do as your Queen commands," Emily gritted, and her dark eyes flashed coldly at the blonde with such intensity that Jennifer had no choice but to step away from the Lady-Queen. "My life has been dictated by you and Morgan enough. I am the _Queen and I will do as I please_."

Chastened, and stunned speechless by the cold treatment her beloved friend had shown to her, Jennifer swallowed the burn in her chest and nodded her head curtly, curtseying low at the Queen.

Her eyes kept their steady gaze upon the stone floor, and her voice even. "As my Queen wishes," she whispered, and rose slowly to stare flatly into Emily's fiery gaze. It was never her intention to smother the Queen so; she loved Emily dearly and deeply - knowing Aêron had hurt her so had made Jennifer loathe the King, and fear for the lives Emily held inside her.

There had been so much blood.

"Shall I bring you your meal then, Your Grace?" she asked instead.

Emily shook her head, her eyes focused solely now on the man that was dodging the surge of attacks coming his way. She gasped inwardly, eyes wide as the blade of the sword missed Aêron by a narrow whisper. "Leave me," she repeated, leaning forward to ease her view. "I wish for nothing but my solitude now."

With one final curtsey and fleeting glance, Jennifer was gone, and the Queen was alone with her thoughts.

From the courtyard she heard the men grunt and swear, and she watched as her husband moved through the myriad of men with weapons. He moved like the warrior he was before he took the crown; fast, sleek, and purposeful - dodging and sliding and using his enemy's weakness as his strength. One hand grasping the blade of a sword, oblivious to the blood spilling from his hand; the Lord-King slid his foot into the stance of his opponent, and in a yell, had the man down upon his back with his sword at his throat.

Sword in hand now, all restraint was gone; the men were on him like rabid dogs, shouting, swearing, lunging at the King like they truly wished him dead, and Emily felt her chest tightening with fear as she watched Aêron stumble backwards. The front of his tunic was slashed wide open, red beginning to pool from the gaping cloth, and the Lord-King glanced at the wound briefly before his face was a thunderous mask.

The air rang with the clashing of swords, sharp and stinging to the ear as two men, three, all bore down onto the King's sword and forced him onto a knee. Aêron staggered under the weight, his teeth gritting as his sword and the three against it began to lower dangerously towards his neck and shoulder.

Emily could almost feel the sweat dripping down her forehead; down _his_ skin.

"Oh, please," she breathed, gripping the divan in her hold tight and leaning desperately in her seat as she watched her husband. "Please, get up, Aêron. Get up!"

_Get up!_

It was almost as if she'd spoken to him in her mind, willed him with her words and pleas; Aêron forced them back with a roar, the three men tumbling to the ground as he rose to his feet once more. He stood before them like an elemental force; chest heaving and raw energy bleeding from his pores as he glared at them impatiently.

"Again!" he barked, and his low voice vibrated through the courtyard. "You expect to protect this kingdom with your blades when you fight like that?!" He swung his sword from his side, spinning to face the five men holding their swords at the ready. "AGAIN!"

And then the King was swarmed.

* * *

Emily had never run as fast as she had in that moment since she was a young woman. She'd burst through her chamber doors and ran beyond her guards and ordered Sergio at her side as she rushed down the hallways. She ran as fast as she could in her gown, hoisting the dress nearly up to her knees as she sprinted down towards the courtyard.

She burst out into the courtyard, Sergio roaring beside her as they stood before the jostling men. "HOLD!" she screamed, her chest burning a hot agony as she sucked in a desperate breath. Sweat matted her skin under her dress, her body stiflingly warm as she glared stubbornly at the men.

The men paused in their movements, staring at the Queen in confusion before bowing at her presence. Emily glared at them all, Sergio growling lowly in his panther throat as she stalked towards the middle of the hoard, a pathway forming before her as she stood amidst the bleeding, sweaty men.

She found Aêron battered and bleeding, the man frowning in confusion before the recognition flashed in his eyes. He looked pained at her presence. Straightening on his wounded leg, he inclined his head at the Queen.

"Is there something the Queen wishes of her servants?"

Emily sucked in a breath, panting still from her run as she glared wordlessly at the man she called her husband. His lip was bleeding, his body covered in cuts and scrapes and bruises as his tunic flashed a wide slash across his chest at her. His eyes refused to meet hers though, and Emily turned her attention to the men surrounding them uncertainly.

"Be done with your training for the day," she told them sternly, glaring at them all as they shifted nervously on their feet and averted their weapons. "You've wounded the King enough."

"Emily, you are not meant to be here," Aêron said, imploring her wordlessly with his eyes to leave - to remove herself from the midst of monsters so he could release the rising tensions in his body. "It's not safe -."

Her eyes flashed at him, and Emily glanced at the King over her shoulder. "It's safer for me here than it is for you, Aêron." At the sound of his name on her lips, the Lord-King froze, his eyes dark.

"_Keep going."_

Emily whirled incredulously at the voice, watching in bewilderment as Aêron staggered to his feet, panting from the effort and wielding his sword once more. His eyes were dark and fierce as he met her gaze; they were guarded and cold as he widened his stance and turned towards his men. "Your King demands you to fight!" he barked at them, and they burst into an uncertain movement, advancing towards the man but making careful measures to move around the Lady-Queen.

"Have you gone mad?" Emily exclaimed, and her words held them in their places. "I demand that you cease!"

Aêron's gaze was cold. "An army is only as good as its King, and if my army cannot defeat me, they can defeat no one." He turned to them again, impatient and vicious. "A King is only as good as the wounds he keeps."

One eager stable boy; young and fresh and untouched by war, one stable boy lunged forward with a cry, swinging his sword high above his head as he surged towards the King. He was so close, so near to his target that he could smell the blood of the King, and so he brought his sword down with a singing swoop.

Suddenly there was a body between them and a clash of swords, and the stable boy found himself breathless and pinned to the ground by the foot of their Lady Queen, and his sword at his throat. He stared fearfully up at the fuming woman; the panther that slinked around her legs and sat snarling at his throat now as the blade of his sword whispered dangerously at the skin of his throat.

"There are many punishments I'd like to bestow on you for disobeying an order of your Queen," she growled, digging her foot harder into the cowering man's chest. "But I am in neither the position nor the mood to watch you scream."

She shoved him away with her foot, and turned back to Aêron where he stood watching wordlessly. "If you wish to fight some more, My King," she said, sword at hand and stance ready. "You would have to fight me first." Her eyes were dark, speaking; she would not allow him to hurt himself further.

Aêron snarled, thrusting his sword aside as he stared at Emily with tortured eyes. "Why do you taunt me so?" he roared, his being shaking from the force of his restrained emotions. "Why do you put yourself amongst us, as if you were a beast as we are? You know what harm could come to you here."

His words were heavy, laced thick with the underlying truths of what had happened and what he'd done. But Emily steeled herself and lowered her sword to her side, regarding the battered Lord-King with a serious, cool gaze. "Because I refuse to sit idle and watch my husband punish himself further for his misdoings," she snapped at him, and Sergio's rumbling growl warned the Lord-King of any more defiance.

Slowly, the circle of men shuffled away, cowering at the raw power crackling in the air between the royal couple. Their eyes were dark, nearly black as they glared at each other; one tortured and the other stubborn as they stood facing each other.

"You know nothing of my misdoings," he uttered lowly, eyes hollow as he circled the woman, watching her movements, watching her body. His eyes dropped down to the soft swell of her stomach, the bulge kept hidden beneath her gown. It was clearer to him; she would be with child for four months now - two babes would take more space within her.

His chest ached at the thought, and Aêron forced his pained gaze up at the woman staring at him. To know that he could have killed them; that his body had nearly taken from her the life they created together.

"Emily," he choked on her name; the name he'd screamed out every night from the nightmares that haunted him. In his dreams, there had been no end to his torture - in his dreams he would watch himself kill her. "Why are you here?"

For a long moment, she stared at the man across her; the broken and beaten man she knew in her heart that she loved. Something inside her, something around _him_ - it told her that the man that had forced himself on her that day and the man standing before her today were not the same.

They looked the same, felt the same, perhaps, but inside she knew that they were not one and the same.

"I want to talk, Aêron," she said finally, and saw his body lock at the thought of being alone with her. "Your children rest inside me and you have not felt them quicken there. No matter what you think I think of you, I refuse to deny you your heirs."

"Now please, come inside. You bleed on the grounds of your castle when you shouldn't. Those wounds will need seeing to by the Mage."

* * *

Reluctantly he'd obeyed his wife - there was never truly a time that Aêron could ever deny Emily what she wanted, after all -, and now the Lord-King found himself shirtless and shifting uncomfortably against the treatment bed of his trusted Mage. He stared at the woman hovering worriedly by his side, his hand grasped in hers as she watched the Mage inspect the wounds on his back.

He stared down at their linked hands, stroking the familiar softness of her skin with his thumb in a mesmerized trance as Emily spoke quietly with the Mage. It was months since he'd touched her; the last he could remember holding her in his arms was in bed the night before Arwen's birthday. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the feel of her skin in his hold, or the scent of her hair against the pillows of their bed, until that very moment.

He had yet to lay his hands upon the growing swell of her stomach; the place where their children slept and waited to be brought into the world.

In his hand now, he squeezed Emily's. With the grace of his Gods, the ones he'd served so loyally for so many years; by the Fallen Gods, he would find Eoin and George and kill them with his bare hands.

"What is it?" Emily asked anxiously, her wide eyes peering nervously at the grim lines of the Mage's face as he stared down at Aêron's wounded back. "What do you see?"

The Mage frowned at the gashes of the King; the wounds that lasted the months and still wept blood and pus and made the Lord-King listless and temperamental. "These wounds were not a dragon's to cause," he told her, grazing the thick dig into the lower back of the King. "Magyck of some sort - dark Magyck, powerful Magyck - it's bled itself into him and feeds from his body." His hand came upon them, a gentle energy pulsing in his palm as he pressed it against Aêron's back and sought the source of his wounds.

The Lord-King arched in agony at the touch, howling at the ceiling as his body burned a vicious flame. Immediately he pulled his grip from Emily's for fear of hurting her further, and instead he grasped the bed in his hands and threatened to snap the woodwork in two.

Emily flew backwards, tears welling in her eyes in fright as she stared in horror at the sight of her writhing husband. "Aêron!" she cried, reaching for the man again, but the Mage boomed an order at her to stay, and so she stayed, helpless and weeping as the Lord-King sobbed his agonies at the ceiling.

Black, viscous fluid began to seep from his wounds; foul to the nose and steaming with its poison as its hissing tendrils coiled around the Mage's hand away from the King. It burned into his skin but seemed to harm him none, but Emily's voice came in a frantic shout from across the bed.

"His color bleeds with it!" she gasped, eyes frighteningly wide as she stared at the Mage desperately. "It drains him of his color!"

Aêron's lips were nearly blue, his skin ashen white as his grip upon the bed seemed to wane, and the Mage gestured to her urgently. "Come to him!" he ordered, pulling the black Magyck from the Lord-King still. "Call to him, my Queen. Call him to you and keep him within this realm!"

"No!" Aêron gasped, shaking his head weakly as he forced his eyes open to meet Emily's. The pain in his eyes made her ache in sympathy, and she stepped towards him. "Emily, please," he wheezed, his brow pinched in a tortured grimace. "Please don't come to me. This poison cannot touch you. Please!"

She shook her head vehemently, tears spilling down her face as she threw herself at him and grasped her hand in his once more. Their breaths mingled, noses barely a breath away from each other as she kept his gaze in hers and sucked in a hard breath. "This poison is powerless against us," she whispered, her breath mingling into the pained gasps of her husband. She forced his head upright, curling her hand into the back of his neck as she pressed his forehead into hers and forced his gaze to steady.

"Your pleasure is my pleasure. Your agony is my agony." She curled her hand tighter into his skin when she felt him beginning to writhe against the bed. She could feel the heat of the black wisps molding into her hand, the sickly cold tendrils looping from his wrist into hers, but Emily held him and pressed her mouth against his in a desperate kiss.

It felt like molten, thick steel bleeding into her body. The poison was sticky and dripping cold into her skin, but Emily pressed her mouth harder into Aêron's and summoned every last ounce of her strength into the King's gasps. _By blood of my blood; the blood we share and the bond we swore - you are __**mine to keep and mine alone**__._

"Your Grace!" the Mage thundered, a hollow voice in the darkness.

Emily ripped her mouth from Aêron's with a scream; her entire body, her soul screaming in agony as she felt the poison engulf her. Her grip on the King's held steady, her knuckles white and her body arched as she keeled forward over his body and emptied her stomach onto the floor beside them.

Black poison, thick and pungent, sat hissing on the stone floor.

She collapsed onto him, gasping desperately for breath as their bodies writhed still from the pain. She clung to him as she regained her senses, her face a mask of pain as she felt the last of its poisonous grasp on her body dissipate. Her chest heaved, their hearts beating in time as he held her to him and pressed his hands protectively around her middle.

Around their children.

Against his hand, she felt the babies shift; pressing against the warmth of their father's hand. It was a gentle fluttering, a stark difference in her body that spread a glowing warmth across her body that slowly began to spread into his body as well.

His grip on her waist tightened, his breathless voice awe-filled and thick with emotion as it whispered in her ear. "They move."

"Yes," she breathed, and Emily felt a smile beginning on her blue-tinted lips. Slowly she slipped her hand between them, resting it over his now as they felt the babies move once more at the pressure and warmth of their joined hands.

"They move for their father."


	14. Matters XIV

_"What are the duties of a monarch, Heir Queen?"_

"_Fair reign for all, strength of a kingdom, and fidelity to your citizens."_

"_And what should a monarch never submit to?"_

"_...fear and greed."_

"_Why so?"_

"_Fear shrouds the kingdom in darkness. Greed gives birth to rage. A monarch must never give way to these things."_

"_Very good, your Grace."_

"_Mage Reid?"_

"_Yes, Arwen?"_

"_...has the kingdom fallen to the darkness?"_

"_...why would you say so, my liege?"_

"_Because Papa walks the corridors like a haunted man, and Mama will not see him. Lady Jennifer will not let us see him, and I wish to see my father!"_

"_...come now, Arwen. Enough talk of the kingdom. Let us see the Queen now. Your siblings are growing stronger every day inside her."_

* * *

When the King woke, it was to a pounding heart and a scream lodged in his throat from a horrifying nightmare - as he had for many dreams before. It wasn't uncommon, not for the most part; but the crowned man found his body almost wickedly contorted and aching, and a heavy weight pinning him to the bed.

His body was drenched in the sweat he'd shed in his nightmare - he shivered as the cold air in the room wrought his body with more sickly feelings as he struggled to make sense of reality and sleep...and the weight at his side.

Something shifted then, a quiet humming in a throat he'd long since marked for his own, and a soft and pliant body was pressed into his side. The soft swell of her stomach pressing into him even through the warm furs draped over their nude bodies.

Someone had evidently seen it fit to undress them before laying them in the royal bed.

His eyes lowered to the woman's face, and Aêron gasped quietly in his throat when he saw the blissfully serene face of his wife pressed into his shoulder and her arm draped possessively over his chest. She was as beautiful as ever, perhaps even more, if that were possible; her pale perfect skin pressed into his own tan and scarred one - the swell of her breasts warm against his arm.

By instinct, he made to remove himself from her presence - no good could come from their sharing of space, but Emily's pretty face furrowed into a frown when she felt him shift, and instead pulled him even tighter against her. Beneath the furs, he could feel her long leg sliding between his, locking around him and keeping him in place; the King would have no choice but to obey.

And so he remained in her embrace, and did the only thing he could.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around his wife and Queen, and reveled in the long-missed scent of her sweet skin and hair surrounding him once more. His body protested the movement, so sore and so bruised he was, but he would be damned if he was going to let his own body get in the way of him holding his wife.

Holding Emily.

What a heavy sigh escaped his lips as Aêron buried his nose into her thick, dark, curling head of hair. The sweet honeysuckle and vanilla scent was familiar and soothing and _home _as he inhaled greedily and heavily and committed it to memory in his mind as he slid his hands along her naked body; remembering and also memorizing the contours of her body - the old ones and the new.

It had been so long since he'd touched her; her body had changed in such remarkable ways that he couldn't help the reverent awe as he stroked his large hands along her hips, the rounded shape of her stomach. His hand paused there, holding steady as he felt the wriggling of their children inside her and reveled in the sensation.

For the first time in months - the Lord-King smiled.

His exploration of her body continued, spanning upwards along the smooth plane of silken pale skin, reaching up towards her breasts, where he took one in the palm of his hand gently. He caressed the full swell of her skin, her nipple peeking between his fingers as her breast threatened to spill from his hold.

She was a perfect handful before - now, she was preparing to feed two.

The thought of her resting upright on their marriage bed, two hungry bundles nursing on her creamy chest; it made his chest swell with a warm pride and longing - to see her with their children, to hold them in his arms and wonder who they'll look like most. For the longest time, he'd convinced himself that these dreams were no longer valid, that by his own doing, he had robbed them both of their children and their future...

...and yet, there was hope.

Suddenly in his arms, Emily shifted, and inhaling sharply, she reached up where his hand cupped her breast still, resting her hand over his larger one as her eyes fluttered open to meet his silently startled gaze. A slow, languid smile spread across her red mouth, and for the life of him, Aêron could feel nothing but happiness and joy.

"Do you make it a habit of fondling all women you find in your bed, o King?" she murmured at him huskily, and a gasp escaped her parted lips as he began to stroke his hand along her tender nipple. Her body shifted against him, nearly wriggling as the heat spread faster than she could follow, and Emily felt the rising heat burn pink into her skin.

Pregnancy attuned a woman to the surroundings of her body; every touch, stroke, caress - it made the blood rush with such speed that the Queen was often left lightheaded. She carried two bairns, after all. Having her husband, her beloved, her King touch her...she felt her body burn like dragon's breath.

He rumbled in his chest, watching with rapt fascination as her body was consumed with a delicious pink heat; rising from her chest to her neck to her cheeks, and underneath the pads of his fingers he felt her nipple stiffen into a peak. His body had begun to respond to her almost as soon as he was conscious - no man living or dead could refrain himself from reacting to Emily, but he waited.

There were so many new parts of her to touch, to taste - to memorize.

"Only you," he whispered, as he moved to hover above her. Trapped in his cage of arms, Emily stared up at her King through hooded, darkly lashed eyes; the glory that was her husband and lover and father of her children. "Only for my Queen."

He reached down with his hand, scarred but healed from the blade he'd held in the courtyard, and cupped her soft cheek gently. His thumb stroked her skin, his eyes fell along her face as she leaned into his touch and nearly purred. His eyes were torn between such love and such fear as Emily raised her lust-darkened eyes to him.

"How do I know I will not hurt you again?" he asked her, uncertainty and torture in his low voice as he struggled and strained above her to keep from sliding his hips along hers. The temptation was burning, her heat called to him as he pressed himself gently between her legs, but he made no movement to touch her further. His hazel eyes were wide as he searched her face; fear, apprehension, disgust - anything but consent, even if just a flicker of uncertainty, and he would cease.

Emily's face gentled into a reassuring smile, reaching up to cup his face and humming when Aêron turned his mouth into her palm and laid a reverent kiss there. Between her legs she could feel him waiting, hard and strong and hot, but the restraint in his body was greater. "Because the man who forced his hand on me was not you," she told him quietly, seriously as she slid her hand down along his chest, and pulled him down flush against her body.

Her lips ghosted his in a breath, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You are Aêron. You are my King and my husband and my lover, and inside me I carry your heirs. You are the man who saved this kingdom from its Tyrant, and you are the man who saved this woman from the monsters that hunted her." She gasped as he flexed his hips, parting her legs wider as he began to guide himself painstakingly slow; gentle as he delved into her heated core.

Her fingertips found his brows as he pressed his forehead to hers, his breath hot on her face as he moaned lowly in his chest when their hips finally met, and Emily felt him where she'd missed him for so long.

"Most of all, Aêron," she whispered to him then, as she lifted her hips to guide him that much deeper. "Most of all, you saved me from myself."

"No," the King moaned, as he began to move within her, his body sliding and arching and molding itself into her and as the Queen gasped and mewled and writhed in his embrace. "You saved me, Emily. You are the reason I live and I breathe; you and my children." He dropped his mouth to hers, a hot and uncoordinated kiss as she mewled into his mouth again.

"You are my salvation."

The Queen was crying, and didn't occur to her until her husband leaned down and kissed it away with a gentle touch. Everything overwhelmed her easily now; anger, sadness, frustration, they were all a close companion with her pregnancy, and now it was lust and emotion and a general sense of love overcoming her. As her body writhed in response to Aêron's deep, precise thrusts, she felt something deeper stir inside her, something stronger and more profound than merely joining her body to her husband's.

There were flames that burned inside her that she thought she'd never feel again; they licked her body in a hungry roar, the same growl that rumbled deep in her King's chest as he began to meld his body into hers desperately.

His breath was hot and thick against her ear, his hips frantic and harsh. "Will I hurt you?" he gasped then, muscles clenching tight as he forced himself to slow his pace and withhold his release. His body burned with the need to climax; the taut muscles roping his body flexed and his teeth were bared in a growl. "Will I hurt them if I - if I...?"

"No," Emily breathed, and she wrapped her arm tight around her husband's neck as he pressed himself against her and sank deeper inside her. "You won't harm them, or me. I promise you this." Her eyes rolled into her head, her head lolled backwards as she arched her back in a silent scream as she felt her body tightening in her release.

A strangled, sobbing shout came from her red lips, and the Lord-King could take no more. With a harsh, snarling howl of her name on his lips, the King emptied himself inside her, thrusting raggedly as her thighs quivered and shook around his body.

"Gods!" he wheezed, when his body had ceased its convulsing and his arms had surrendered beneath his weight. Beneath him, the Queen heaved ragged breaths as well, her pale skin flushed and glowing a mesmerizing pink. Her hands wove their way inside his dark hair, stroking idly as they found their breaths eventually, and Aêron snuggled deeper into her bare chest, sighing heavily as he molded their bare flesh together in a tangle of limbs.

Slowly he reached up to her stomach, stroking the gentle swell and smiling softly when Emily giggled at the ticklish brush of his fingertips to her skin. His eyes traced his hands as they moved around her stomach, marveling in the soft fluttering that came beneath the warmth of his palm where he touched his children.

"I think they're boys," he murmured, slurred and muffled against her chest. He lowered his mouth to her skin, pressing a loving kiss to her stomach as Emily smiled dreamily down at her husband. "Strong, handsome boys; warriors and wise rulers."

Emily laughed softly; he felt her humming in her chest. "Do you wish sons of me then, Aêron?" she asked him lazily, smiling crookedly at the man's awe-filled caresses of her skin. Inside her, she felt the babies stirring, not old enough to kick, but were beginning to understand the presence of their father in the world around them.

Aêron's mouth was warm on her skin, his touch loving and gentle. "I wish for happy and healthy children from you, nothing more." He raised his head away from her body, his hazel eyes were soft and teasing as they stared adoringly up at his beautiful wife's face. "Although now I see clearly that all our children will be as beautiful as their mother. It will do best for me to have sons, lest I sit about with my sword in my lap when suitors come about."

The Queen Consort chuckled softly, smiling in amusement at her husband as he grinned up at her with his dashingly handsome face. Dimples peeked through his cheeks, the ones marred with scrapes and healing bruises, and Emily reached up to stroke his grizzled cheek. "Regardless; princes or princesses - our children will be beautiful and loved and safe," she told him, and she pressed her lips to his in a sweet, speaking kiss.

"As long as you are my King and my husband, I know we will survive anything that should cross our path."


	15. Matters XV

**I've had so much wine while writing this.**

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
**

* * *

The Heir-Queen was restless.

Too many days had passed without sight of her Queen Mother; too many nights she would wake to the sound of her father's pained screaming through the walls as he thrashed and fought the demons of his nightmares. She saw Emily only for meals, when the Lady-Queen would sit with them to break fast – or she'd glimpse the shadow of her father moving through the halls and disappearing into his chambers. Many a time she would see the Queen's eyes alight with a hopefulness at the sound of the Lord-King's smooth strides; so desperately she wished for a sighting of her husband.

The day would end in disappointment for them all.

She didn't understand why they wouldn't attend to each other; stories were told of the Queen tumbling down the castle stairs, and so Arwen had assumed her father took it upon himself to hold himself responsible in some way.

The bruises were healing; all would be well once more.

Yet it seemed that there was far more that needed to be tended to than she realized.

Now Arwen heard the whispers that were floating through the castle – tales of their King and Queen finally, _finally _coming to terms with their differences, finally sharing the same breathing space and even the same bed. Of course with the tales came the whispers of the blood her father had shed; how the Queen had all but trounced an overconfident stable hand – even with child!

The young Heir Queen huffed as she glanced to her brother; the sweet Crown Prince who was busy writing a prose to their Queen Mother to heal soon and rest plenty for the sake of their siblings inside her.

When Jack heard it would be twins, the boy had all but demanded Captain Morgan to teach him the ways of the sword.

"I want to be able to protect them when they come!" he'd told the man stubbornly, and Captain Morgan readily agreed, albeit with a fond chuckle and an indulgent "yes, o prince." Given that the Crown Prince was but four summers old, there was not much Morgan could educate him with – but to wield his sword without toppling from its weight. As it was, the boy was too young to wield his own custom blade…perhaps in a few years; the Captain would consider a gift of a sword for the boy.

A small one, of course; made to suit his size.

Presently the Crown Prince's sandy head lifted from his parchment, his feather pen limp in his hold from writing so long as he peered up at his sister and Lady Jennifer who sat nearby; woolen knitting in her lap. He beamed at them as he stood with the parchment in hand now as he showed them the childlike drawings and scrawl. After Lady Jennifer had nodded her approval and praised the Crown Prince kindly, Jack spoke eagerly.

"May we visit Mama now?" He glanced from Arwen to Jennifer, wriggling excitedly at the prospect of visiting Emily. He missed the Queen dearly; with the babes inside her draining her of her energy, it was rare for Emily to have the strength to read to him as she used to. Most nights, the Queen was put to bed earlier than they! He thrust his drawing into Jennifer's lap, jostling the half-knitted blanket that lay there. "I want to show her what I drew!"

The lady-in-waiting couldn't help but smile as she stared down into the four year old prince's art. It wasn't the best, it took a moment for her to decipher the drawing, but when she did, Jennifer felt her heart swell in her chest. Six figures were drawn with painfully accurate detail; the Lord-King with his crown and dark head of hair, the Queen Consort with her flowing raven hair and pretty smile, and the royal children.

All four of them – the Heir-Queen and Crown Prince, each holding the hand of a younger, smaller figure, their genders obscure.

Beneath the masterpiece in Jackesyn's scrawl read _May the Gods grant your health soon, Mama! Love your son, Crown Prince of Thunderfrost; Jackesyn._ It made Jennifer smile - as heirs to the throne, both Arwen and Jack were taught to sign their full titles on any documentation made in their hand. It was amusing and endearing to the lady-in-waiting to see the young boy scribe his name so painstakingly perfect onto his parchment.

Even if his 'e's were backwards.

He would learn eventually.

Jennifer smiled warmly at the Crown Prince, reaching out to stroke his hair as she stood from her seat. "Emily will love it, I'm sure," she told the boy, her blue eyes soft as she regarded both the royal children. So eager they were, and she couldn't fault them for it...but in her heart her anxiety was strong. How could she trust the King with Emily again? How could she rest knowing that the monster could strike again, and this time put more fatal damages to the Queen and their children?

She'd heard the tales; black poison and Dark Magyck from the Reaper that had seeped into The Lord-King and took his senses from him. That George Foyet had been responsible for the rape of the Queen, as far as they know. It made no sense to the blonde - George thought Emily a beautiful woman, yes, but he was always a cruel man; torture and pain were his delights, not violent acts of defiling a woman.

Lust was never his motivation, not revenge...and yet Jennifer could feel the cold vengeance in The Lord-King that day.

She shuddered at the memory and forced a beatific smile at Arwen and Jack when they peered into her face curiously. "Come then," she urged, guiding them with a gentle hand as they gathered their things excitedly and Jack tugged Sergio along on his leash. "It is almost time for supper. Who knows? Perhaps the King and Queen will join us."

Both the royal children gasped at the thought, their dark eyes gleaming with such innocent hope that Jennifer felt her chest clench. "Will they?" Arwen gasped, wriggling already. Oh, blessed be the Gods! She could finally see her Papa again!

"Oh, do, do implore them to, Lady Jennifer, please!" she pleaded, tugging at the blonde's hand as the lady-in-waiting led them down the hallway to the royal chambers. It was a path she'd been forbidden to take since her parents had their disagreements, and Jack ran ahead with Sergio loping along languidly beside him. The young Heir Queen cast her anxious gaze up at Jennifer's face again, and the woman was nearly pained to see how much she looked like her father.

"I do miss them so, Lady Jennifer. Please, won't you ask them to join us for supper?" Arwen sank her teeth into her lower lip, not entirely pouting because Heir Queens didn't pout, but the girl gnawed on her lip anxiously as Jennifer seemed to consider her request carefully.

Jennifer felt her mouth pursing into a grim line as she stared down into Arwen's eager face; the pain and turmoil and confusion in her deep hazel eyes that no child should have to ever feel. It wasn't fair for them to be keeping the children away from their parents; it was bad enough with Emily - the Queen Consort had been so restless and suffocated by their coddling, it was no surprise that the children were listless now too.

She sighed. Perhaps it _was _time to start over. A clean slate, a new beginning. There were heirs to be born into the bloodline once more; a new beginning for the Prentiss bloodline. If Emily could love the Lord-King still and forgive him of his ways, Jennifer found it her responsibility to do the same.

She owed Aêron and Emily that much.

Finally she mustered a small smile, her blue eyes sparkling at the royal children as they pouted at her. "They would never dream of disappointing you. Now come, Heir Queen, Crown Prince - it's time we introduced you to your siblings."

* * *

"Aêron please, I am not an invalid, I can walk on my own two feet!"

Emily huffed indignantly, locking her arms tight around her husband's neck and shoulders as he swept her off their bed, lifting her in his arms over to their bath chambers. Foolishly she'd revealed to him that her back ached more frequently then; now that the babies moved inside her freely, it was difficult for her slight figure to compensate for their size. Of course the Lord-King had taken it upon himself to alleviate her aching - both internal and external - by lifting her into his arms into a hot bath.

He was, after all - directly or otherwise, responsible for her condition and aching.

Aêron shrugged, smiling out of the corner of his mouth at Emily as she glared at him, and stepped carefully into the bath chambers, only lowering the Queen to her feet once they approached the bath he'd ordered the maids to fill for them. The steam was warm and thick as it settled over their damp skin; waiting to soothe their aching bones and weary muscles. "You've exerted yourself enough these past few days," he told her, giving the Queen a droll look when Emily opened her mouth to protest.

"You carry my children inside you - it's only fair that _I_ carry _you _every so often." He set a foot into the warm water, holding his hand out to Emily as he stepped further into the water. He smiled at her gently. "Won't you join your King in his bath?"

The Queen raised an eyebrow as she approached him, sliding her hand into his. "The last time I joined you in this bath, O King, you were wounded and scarred and smelt like a skunk." She regarded him flatly; the healing slash across his broad chest and the deep bruises on his skin. "The only difference now is your scent is only mildly offensive to my nose."

Aêron grinned at her, sinking into the water and bringing her with him as Emily sighed indulgently and willed the tension from her body as the warm heat lapped at her skin and seeped into her bones. He rumbled at her as she pressed into his chest, sighing in content as she laid her cheek upon his skin and palmed his chest possessively.

"You enjoyed yourself regardless," he reminded her, and chuckled low in his chest when the Queen pinched at his skin in reproach. He looked down, smiling in amusement at the pink flush that was spreading over her skin; evidently Emily was remembering the last they'd shared this space together.

But then the King sobered, grim and guilty as his mind flashed onto the happenings that followed their last encounter together - their last _genuine _encounter, and not the moments where he'd forced her against their marriage bed and taken from her what he wanted. When George had poisoned his body and mind and nearly robbed him of his wife and reason for living.

He'd nearly killed his own children.

The very thought made his stomach clench, and the King's breath hitched in his chest at the vile images it conjured in his mind. Tears burned in his eyes, hot and sharp, but Aêron swallowed them. It was no use reliving the nightmares; he endured enough torture in the nights when they plagued his sleep.

For now, he had his wife in his arms, and their children safe inside her between them. What Eoin Doyle and George Foyet had done hadn't taken his wife from him, and nothing they tried would ever take Emily from his side.

Unfortunately, the Queen had felt his body lock tight, and Emily frowned worriedly as she peered up at his face; one part anxious and afraid, the other concerned and gentle. She hated herself for fearing Aêron; she had never in her life, feared the King for any reason, but her body and mind couldn't forget the memories of his...anger and violence. Not yet, no matter how much she wanted to believe that she had forgiven him, her body had not.

"What's wrong?" she asked him gently, stroking the scars of his chest softly as he seemed to stare intently at the waters around them, the ticking of his jaw told her it was clenched tight. She stroked her hand along his chest, caressing and persuading; reminding him she was there. "Aêron, tell me what troubles my King."

Aêron sighed heavily, the large span of his hand resting protectively over her stomach as he tilted his head down to his wife, where she settled into the crook of his neck. The soft scent of her skin lingered underneath the scent of the sweat and their love making; soft, sweet, and as alluring as he remembered. He dropped his mouth to her forehead, pressing a reverent kiss there before attempting a warm smile.

"Nothing that you should worry your sweet head about," he assured Emily, and smiled genuinely then when the Queen tilted her head up to peer at him. With her delicious red lips upturned, Aêron dropped a kiss there when she pouted at him, stroking his thumb in a lulling circle on the soft swell of her stomach. A smile curved his mouth when he felt the soft fluttering of his children under his palm, and he pulled his wife tighter to him.

Emily wriggled in his embrace, pressed into his body; sleek lines and lean muscle that radiated a heat stronger than the waters surrounding them. It was odd to the Queen, the way her body seemed to mold into his, even with her stomach heavy with child. It was as if nothing had changed between them - she completed him as much as he completed her. Without him in bed beside him, his large and spanning arms wrapped tight around her body, Emily had felt cold and vulnerable. Though those hands had been the ones to lay bruises on her skin and bring blood to sight, she missed them still.

The Lord-King was nothing but gentle in his ways; she was absolutely certain that the man that had forced himself on her that day was not her husband.

Not with a voice like that. Not with the harsh grate of words in a brogue Aêron had no business having.

But those were not thoughts for the moment. She wanted to live in the embrace of her husband; the touch of his skin. He was Aêron, the man she chose to bind herself to in life and death. The man whom she loved deeply and wholly, and felt his love for her in every moment they were together.

The lives inside her were proof.

"Shall I...distract my King's thoughts with something more...rapturous?" she murmured lowly then, as she breathed a kiss against the sharp line of his jaw and pressed her naked body against him. The hard lines of his form against the soft curves of hers thrilled her; set fire to her loins and licked the pale expanse of her skin in a pink flush, her yearning for her husband clear.

Aêron felt his body unfurl and tighten; his muscles roiling and his body flaring in response of her soft body molding to fit his. It took as little as a mere glance from his wife and Queen, and Aêron would feel the fires of Hell burning in his loins. It was quite clear that Emily knew this about as well as she knew her own body.

Emily purred as she felt Aêron growl low in his chest; smiling in her feline way against the scars of his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her hair. The damp ends curled like tendrils of webs around her pale body, dark in the water and alluring in its way as he moved them towards the wall of their bath.

His mouth was hot as it found hers, hungry and intense as he plundered forth and tasted the sweetness of her tongue. His body was like fire against her, pressed so intimately to her skin; a large and overwhelming wall of muscle as he caged her with his arms on either side and his legs parting hers.

He had enough with his thoughts of darkness and death. Before him was his wife, cherished and loved so deeply - he would be a fool of a King and husband if he were to dismiss her then.

As he began to slide his hands along her hip, stroking and guiding her thighs around his waist, Emily pulled back with a keening gasp, bright-eyed and dizzy as she found the black-lusted gaze of the King. "No," she gasped, pushing at his chest until he yielded, slipping between the minimal space between them until she could turn fully away from him.

Grasping the wall of the bath tightly, Emily glanced at Aêron over her shoulder, meeting his confused and then uncertainly disbelieving face. "Here," she urged him gently, sliding her hand along his muscular thigh and hip as she pulled him closer to her. A sigh escaped her red lips as he gripped her hips in his hands, and the hot brand of him nestled between her thighs.

Aêron froze in his movements, staring blankly at the pale, perfect expanse of his wife's back; endless untouched perfection that he was terrified at the thought of marring. His eyes were wide as they sought Emily's, fear and apprehension clear as he flexed his fingers around Emily's waist but held there as Emily pushed back against him. He had not entered her, would not - until he knew why she wanted him to do so.

"I wish to see your face," he told her, insisted so, and began to maneuver her to his wishes, but Emily shook her head stubbornly, and reached behind her to guide the throbbing tip of his member between her folds. "Emily!" he sputtered, recoiling, and Emily huffed mildly as she turned to him over her shoulder.

"I trust you, Aêron," she soothed him, urging him to her as he continued to stare at her with such broken uncertainty - as if he would hurt her. "You won't harm any of us," she assured him, and her gentle smile and coaxings eventually led the Lord-King hesitantly to her. He settled himself between her legs again, brushing a soft kiss to her shoulder blade as she stroked his face.

Aêron bit his lip, staring nervously at his wife's trusting position. "Emily, I -."

"Aêron." Her voice, her tone, her silent meaning; it stilled him in his position behind her, his hands large and spanning wide engulfing the marks he'd put there earlier in their bed. Her eyes found his over her shoulder once more, dark and speaking. "Trust yourself as I trust you."

Wordless, the King swallowed thickly; gently he slid himself inside her. Seated deep in his wife, he bent over her back, pressed his mouth to her shoulder in apology when her breath hitched in her chest. "You must tell me if I hurt you," he whispered, warm and damp against her ear as Emily leaned her head back and rested it into the side of his face.

"You hurt no one," she promised him, and so carefully, the King began to move.

Emily sucked in a breath, exhaling in a soft moan as he remained hovering over her, leaning back against his gliding thrusts. His hands moved from her hips, squeezing them gently before he slid them reverently along her body, stroking her skin, soothing their children and caressing her breasts lovingly before he found her hands, gripping them in his tightly as he peppered her bare shoulders in heated, possessive kisses.

The Lord-King exhaled a growl; Emily shivered as it wrought pleasure down her spine. His thrusts her smooth but gentle, careful in his way and yet so deeply fulfilling inside her as he heaved a panting breath near her ear and gripped her hands tighter in his. She keened in her throat, mewling and gasping as she pressed back against his grinding hips desperately. Flames licked her skin, spread out and flared like a dragon's roar along her body as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, scraping the skin and seating himself as deeply as he could inside her.

She threw her head back, arching in a bow as she gave a breathy sob and moaned deep in her throat when one of his hands snaked down between her legs, jolting harshly when it found the tender nerve there. "Aêron," she sighed, purring as his large fingers circled the nerve, coaxing her higher and higher towards the precipice of release and pleasure. The light so blinding it left her struggling for breath and dizzy with delight as he dropped an open mouthed kiss to her neck and growled at her.

"Are you hurt?" he rasped, and the utter male husk of his guttural words had Emily writhing further as he leaned into her back, the heat of his chest burning into her skin as she arched her back higher and raised herself onto her toes. She gasped as he slid deeper than she thought possible - the sound swallowed by the King's own grunting swear as the angle shifted.

She hummed in her throat, smiling felinely at him over her shoulder as she gasped. "Does that provide you with a sufficient answer, O King?"

Aêron thought he was on the verge of death. A heavenly one though - filled with blinding light and rapture of the Gods. He groaned deep in his throat, rolling his head up to the heavens as he slid his hands back down to her hips, guiding them harder against the sharp rutting of his hips. "Mercy be, Emily - you will put me in my grave sooner than I'd like," he gusted, moaning again as he began to intensify his thrusts.

Suddenly Emily arched her back high, crying out sharply as she reached back and gripped Aêron's hand in a vice. Her cries reverberated through the walls, bouncing wetly off the chamber as she held her husband steady and rode the waves of her release in roiling shudders. They wracked her body in violent turns, the water rising in noisy waves around them as she slumped forward onto her arm and sobbed and moaned weakly as it robbed her of her coherence.

The Lord-King snarled then, loud and possessive, the beast inside him marking his bride as he stilled, shivering as Emily's convulsing walls pulled him headfirst into the vortex with her; shuddering violently against her as he emptied himself inside her with an urgent need. He fell forward atop her back, panting hard as he held her hips in a near-bruising hold against his hips, both shivering as they felt him twitch inside her and more seed spill within her.

Emily let out a breathy sigh, eventually morphing into a little laugh as she felt him seep from within her, leaning back to let him kiss his way along the salty path of her neck. "Perhaps it was for the best that your seed has already found its place inside my womb, Aêron," she sighed breathlessly, leaning forward onto their joined hands and moaning as he flexed his hips against her. "For I'm quite certain you would have lain me with three heirs now - if not four."

Aêron chuckled lowly, sighing in content as he pressed another kiss to her shoulder, the one he had previously marked with his teeth, and straightened off his wife, leaving her room for breaths and pulling himself from within her. He smirked at her disappointed mewl, snaking his hand between her legs again until he had her gasping breathlessly and writhing in his hold.

"Rest assured that I would see that I give you both sons and daughters, my Queen." His fingers glided purposefully between her legs, keeping her gasping, promising the breathless Queen endless, multiple pleasure as she bent low onto her folded arms and moaned lowly in her throat.

Eventually she reached down to stop him, jolting still from what felt to be her fourth release, and breathlessly turning over to face her dark-eyed husband. The heat in her cheeks still burned, in her chest, in her loins, and Emily met his gaze to see the deep hazel eyes over her King staring at her with nothing but as much love and adoration he could muster.

Emily smiled softly and stroked his cheek; her own cheeks pink from the heat and his precise fingers. Her dark eyes, wide and framed with dark, dark lashes that enamored him; they stared up at him lovingly, affectionately as she stood on her toes once more, and dropped a sweet, speaking kiss to his mouth.

"I have no doubt you would do so in the best of your abilities," she murmured against his mouth, grinning so wantonly and openly lascivious that the crowned man felt a _blush _rise on his cheeks. "The practicing is the most thrilling part."

"That it is," he rumbled in agreement, and took her lips for his once more. "But for now, two more is enough." He pulled her flush against him, smirking at her yelp of fright. "I wish to keep you for my own just a little bit longer. We've only been married less of a year - we have the rest of our lives to raise our children."

Emily felt her stomach flutter and her heart swell at the thought of spending the rest of her years with him. She smiled quietly into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck. The King spoke truth - she already had two heirs inside her; another year or so, and she was certain they would have another.

...it was then the thought occurred to her.

"...there will be two of them coming out of me."

Aêron smiled down at her. "That's what twins entail, darling."

The Queen seemed unimpressed. "Well. Unless you convince the mage to help the process along the way, I refuse to bear you any more heirs beyond these two." She huffed indignantly, folding her arms stubbornly as the King held her close.

The Lord-King's mouth twitched, and he inclined his head obediently. "...of course, my Queen."


	16. Matters XVI

_"Aêron, the children may understand many things, but they will not understand why the Queen greets them in the nude."_

The Lord-King grinned unrepentantly at his wife, sprawled as he was across their bed as nude as the day he was born; his muscular arm wrapped around her waist to keep her within his grasp. Their marriage bed was tousled and warm, and perhaps a slight touch damp from their tumbling, and now the Queen was wriggling against his embrace to dress herself.

"My Love, my Life - my beautiful, radiant, perfectly mine, O Queen - you should feel no need to hide your body from me," he cajoled her, straightening onto an elbow and twisting his body to watch as Emily bent to retrieve her gown from its fallen position on the ground.

Hungrily his eyes tracked her pale skin; flawless, endless, and so very deliciously soft - from her long, slender legs to her creamy behind that was bent in the air now as she doubled over to snag the fine silk between her fingers. So perfectly round and flawlessly soft and smooth under his callused palm.

Taunting him, nearly; asking for him to place her upon his lap and spank it raw and red until she was screaming.

Screaming his name.

He growled, rising from the bed and prowling across it like a panther, eyes black with unbridled lust again as he swept his arm around her waist once more and pulled her back flush against him. His nose pressed into her dark curls, and the King inhaled greedily at the sweet honeysuckle of her hair; the scent he would remember at any moment of his life till he was lying in his deathbed. A rumbling purr vibrated in his chest as his hands roamed down her nude body, sliding possessively and protectively around her swollen stomach and caressing their children there.

One large, war-roughened hand rose along her skin, cupping her full breast; Aêron smirked into her hair as he reveled in the sharp gasp the touch elicited from the Queen. "Being with child suits you, my Queen," he growled, as his thumb began to circle the taut pebble of her nipple. "It does so render you so...responsive to my touches."

With a shuddering gasp, Emily summoned the rest of her willpower and grasped his roving hand in hers, drawing it away from her skin that was already flaring a heated pink from his very presence behind her. Between her legs she had felt the insistent throb of his length pressing against her thigh, but the Lady-Queen steadied her nerves and her lust enough to glare at her Lord-husband reproachfully.

His _children _were visiting, and the man wanted to take her over her vanity again!

"You think it amusing to tease a woman heavy with child," she muttered darkly, shoving at his chest as he grinned at her. "Tonight you sleep with one eye open, O King. It would be no surprise to your kingdom if you woke up one morning a eunuch." With a resolute huff, Emily began to dress.

Aêron stepped back, grinning still though somewhat dimly as he reached down and stroked his not insubstantial manhood; a reassurance to himself that his wife and Queen enjoyed him as the virile and unrelenting Lord-King. The amount of times he had her screaming beneath him was testament enough to reassure the crowned man.

Emily turned to regard her husband, adjusting her gown and scowling slightly when she saw him nude still and grasping his manhood. "Aêron." The exasperation in her voice made the man release himself, offering her a sheepish grin as she threw a pile of material into his chest. Rolling her eyes, Emily turned back to her vanity to brush out the tousled tangles their romping had turned her hair into. "Please try not to scar Arwen and Jack when they come visit - dress yourself before the enormous beast between your legs gives them nightmares to last them a decade."

As if upon the Queen's command, the doors to the royal chambers sounded - an excited rapping on the chamber doors that had the Lord-King hastily donning his breeches. "A moment," he commanded, slipping his tunic over his head and sliding the garment into his breeches smoothly. The tunic was barely laced when the doors burst open, and with them came the excitable giggling of the royal children.

Jack rushed to his father, launching himself into Aêron's arms with a delighted cry. "Papa!" He wrapped his arms around the King's neck tight, hugging the man happily as Aêron laughingly settled the boy into his arms; it was clear the Crown Prince had no intentions of releasing his father.

"Your Grace," Aêron chuckled, running his large hand over his son's downy hair and pressing a kiss to Jack's forehead. "Ah, my boy," he sighed into the prince's hair, smiling softly as Jack's small hand came to rest on his grizzled cheek. "I've missed you dearly."

"I missed you too, Papa," the boy said, and grinned at the Lord-King when he pulled away. "But now we're happy again - we're a family once more, and all will be well!" In one hand he held his drawing, hidden from view still and waiting patiently for his father to lower him down.

Aêron smiled affectionately at the Crown Prince, though the corners of his mouth and eyes were sad almost. But the young lad saw none of this, for he was already dashing across the room to where Emily sat perched on the bed, seated regally with Arwen lying in her lap. He watched fondly as the boy threw his arms around the Queen Consort, ever so careful with her rounded stomach before pressing a wet kiss to her cheek and presenting her with the drawing.

Emily gasped quietly as she took it from the boy, pressing one hand to her mouth as she read the prince's studiously neat handwriting. Tears began to pool in her eyes, even Aêron could see, and the Queen lowered the drawing to give the Crown Prince a long, emotional hug.

"It's absolutely beautiful, Jack," she whispered to the boy, kissing his flaxen hair and stroking it back to smile down at the prince. "You are a wonderful brother."

Then she turned to Arwen, stroking the young girl's long dark hair as well. "You're both wonderful siblings. I couldn't ask for better ones for my children." The Queen smiled gently; her eyes moved across the room to the Lord-King, where he stood watching with such a tender, loving mask on his face.

He couldn't have possibly asked for a better wife and mother to his children. To _all _his children.

"Come." Emily beckoned them closer to her, holding out a hand to the Lord-King as well as Arwen and Jack huddled close to her side; their small hands were pressed eagerly on her stomach, hoping for a kick. Gently she guided their hands along her belly, sliding them along the side where she felt one babe squirm, chuckling quietly at the wonder on the children's face.

Beneath their hands, there came a kick.

Arwen squeaked. "They know!"

Aêron came to their sides, kneeling by Emily's lap and placing his hand gently over theirs, tracing her skin with the tips of his fingers. He smiled up at the smiling Queen, his eyes widening slightly in surprise when there came another kick, stronger than the last.

It was followed by another kick, harder again.

His brow rose on his forehead; his large palm spread wide over his wife's skin. "They're very strong," he remarked, smiling when Arwen giggled at the wriggling belly of the Queen.

Emily smiled lightly. "They take after their father," she told him simply, before exclaiming quietly as one of the babes began to fuss from the attention. It kicked into her side, pressing uncomfortably into her stomach, and Emily ran her hand soothingly over its jutting foot or elbow, murmuring to it gently in a melodious croon.

"Hush now, hush child," she hummed quietly, stroking her child until its fussing waned. "Be nice for your father and siblings. Let them come say hello."

Arwen stared into the Queen's radiant face, gaping reverently at the near-ethereal woman. "Mama, you can speak to them even as they sleep inside you?" Surely there was nothing Emily couldn't do - she was truly a kind of woman of wonder.

The Queen smiled softly; her free hand had taken residence in Arwen's thick dark hair, running through it in a languid motion. It soothed them both - Jennifer had told the Queen the tales of the poor Heir-Queen's worries. The young girl had paced herself into illness almost, and Emily felt her heart ache for Arwen's anxious eyes gazing down at her stomach. Leaning down slightly, she whispered to the Heir-Queen. "If you wish to, you may speak with them as well - they do take such a fondness to hearing new people."

"They've taken a liking to hearing their father," Aêron said, and smirked as the Queen rolled her eyes at him benevolently. As much as Emily hated to acknowledge that fact, the babies did in fact take quite a liking to Aêron's low timbre; despite only ever hearing his low voice pressed against her skin just that morning.

Emily couldn't find the strength in her heart to blame them - a greeting from the King, and she was swooning on her feet.

Tentatively, Arwen and Jack approached their stepmother, each resting their heads ever so gently onto the Lady-Queen. The Heir-Queen stroked the fine silk, whispering ever so softly; as if she would frighten the babes if she spoke any louder. "Hello, little ones. I'm Arwen - I'm to be your sister."

"And I'm Jack," the Crown Prince added excitedly. "I'm your big brother!"

At first there was nothing, and Jack's cherubic face was near to a pout before Arwen squeaked aloud - there were fluttering kicks beneath their hands. Eager and awake, their siblings bade them a greeting in return. "Oh, Mama, they heard us!" she gasped, and Emily couldn't suppress the indulgent laugh in her throat.

"They hear us all, blessed precious," she told the Heir-Queen warmly, as she stroked Arwen's thick dark hair.

The Lord-King cleared his throat discreetly from beside her, and Emily peered up at his face curiously, eyebrow raised at the uncertain, if embarrassed look upon her husband's face. "What troubles you, Aêron?"

Aêron glanced down at her stomach, palming it gently in his large hands. "They don't...really hear _everything, _do they?" he asked her carefully, smiling sheepishly when the Lady-Queen stared at him wryly. "It's just that I'd rather not know that they ah...listen when you and I -." He cast a pointed look at her, to which Emily laughed melodiously.

He flushed indignantly. "It's a valid inquiry!"

"Aêron." Her voice was colored with an exasperated affection - she couldn't possibly love him any more than she did, the adorably clueless Lord-King of the Five Realms. "How are they to shut their ears from us?"

The man struggled for a moment, sputtering quietly before shrugging his shoulders in an almost helpless defeat. "Perhaps...a pillow?"


	17. Matters XVII

**This took too long to piece together ugh.**

* * *

The months moved like the rushing of the Silver Gates that bordered the Thunderfrost Kingdom; fast and powerful, and held an impotent but ominous danger. No word had come to the Lord-King of his cousin beyond the attack at the West Limit – and the attack on the Queen. It drove Aêron mad, the silence – what vile and wicked creatures was George conjuring in the darkness to haunt him? What of the man that had not only violated Emily, but him as well when he'd forced his way into the Lord-King's body and drove him to the madness of forcing himself onto his own beloved wife?

What claim had he, upon the woman who held within her his children?

Eoin Doyle had once held the heart of the Queen. Long before the times she came to the kingdom; when she had been young and sweet and naive - she had been a girl in love, and he had taken from her the right of her bloodline, together with all that she loved. Scorned by Emily's rebuttal of his proposal to her, Eoin had lain waste to the Prentiss land and family; sparing none and leaving Emily for last - one sweet kill to savor.

He'd battered her bloody, ruthlessly spilling her blood and bruising her porcelain skin vile shades of black and blue until Emily could barely lift herself from the ground. It was only by the woman's sheer strength and determination that had spared her life, and Emily had eventually made her way into the sanctuary of the Thunderfrost kingdom, all by the bed of her nails.

The last words of Eoin to Emily swore bitter retribution, and the King had been responsible for delivering it.

The memory of what he'd done burned still in his chest, and in the darkest moments of the night when he held Emily in his arms and rested his hands protectively over their children, he wondered if there was ever a time that George would return again – and he would be helpless yet again to his cousin's wishes.

Presently then, his grip on his slumbering wife tightened, and beneath the wide palm of his hand, he felt the children stir. Restless they were now – waiting impatiently for their time into the world. "Hush," he soothed them; the low thrum of his voice would elicit a keening moan from Emily, though she slept on peacefully unaware of the turmoil roiling in her husband's mind. "Leave your mother to rest, now." A smile, though small and sad as it was, a smile graced the weary King's lips when he felt his children obey, and Emily whispered the sigh of a dreamer as she settled once more into the realm of contentment and rest.

The children would come any day now.

It was this thought that troubled the King so. As the babes within Emily grew stronger, the Queen seemed to grow weaker; Mage Reid had done his best to assure Aêron of the expected change in bearing more than one child in her womb, but still the Lord-King felt the ill sensation of an impending doom curling in his mind. Each day passed with no word of George's whereabouts, and each night he saw the radiant strength in his wife grow dimmer. Every smile that graced her beautiful face was worn and weary; the light in her eyes, the fire of her soul were thin and frail.

It had to be the Magyck – it had to be. Haley had never been so drained when she was with child. Had her connection to him forced George's magic unto their children as well?

The thought pulled his touch from his wife's body as if he'd been burned. Sweat beaded his skin, cold in the room; cloying on his skin as he pulled away from Emily and stumbled out of bed. It was late, or perhaps early before the dawn, but Aêron could not rest - not with his mind reeling as such.

And he could not stand the thought of hurting Emily or his children further.

With a weary, weighted sigh, the Lord-King drew himself away from his bed, and led himself into the cold and lonely confines of his study.

_It was where George had last left his mark in the castle. Perhaps there would be answers there._

* * *

The Queen awoke to the castle in bedlam. There was noise erupting from every corner of the corridors outside the royal chambers; muffled sounds of orders being barked at servants and guards, the frightened whimpers of maids and ladies-in-waiting rushing about to gather themselves. In a daze, Emily rose from her marriage bed, where beside her the dip of her husband's body left a cold chasm; her eyes roved the room worriedly, falling to the panther lying restlessly at the foot of the bed.

"Sergio, to me." The black panther came willingly, offering the silk caught in his jowl to the Lady Queen as she stroked her hand along his jaw. A rumbling purr erupted from the beast's throat, but Emily sensed his disquiet with the sharp flicking of his tail upon the bed. Something was amiss, and the royal panther knew it.

Presently the Queen donned her silk robe, pulling the sash loosely around her rounded middle as she moved swiftly to the chamber doors. The sight revealed to her made Emily gasp, stepping back into the chambers to avoid colliding into the backs of the two fully armored guards standing in her way. She glared at them indignantly.

"Stand down," she ordered them, as they glanced behind to her in surprise. Evidently they hadn't anticipated her waking. Curiously Emily wondered what orders had Aêron given them while she slept. Ahead of them, she saw the rush of people moving; the sound of metal grinding into the stone floors as soldiers and armored men stationed themselves as necessary. Sharply, her eyes sought those of the guard, burning with unbound authority and fire.

"Let me pass," she snapped at them, and Sergio gave a bristling growl from her side.

The guards shifted nervously, each darting glances from the Queen to the panther, before one nodded his head apologetically at Emily. "I b-beg your forgiveness, truly, Your Grace - but the Lord-King has dictated that you should remain in your chambers until it is safe," he told her hurriedly, shifting away anxiously as Sergio approached them. "I must obey his orders, my Queen!"

Emily glared at the guard, but slipped her hand into Sergio's collar to keep him at his place beside her. There would be no use mauling her own guards; she could feel the anxiety rising in her chest into her throat as she searched her mind frantically for what could call Aêron away from her with such dire need. "Where is my husband?" she asked the guard instead.

"Gone, Your Majesty," he said. "Gone to the corners to consult with the warlords." The Lord-King had burst forth from his chambers in a madness that morning, shouting for his charger, barking orders for his guards to dress and ready their weapons. He had spoken of threats from the Dark Mage - his cousin George had been an underlying threat for months, and it seemed that George had finally grown weary with sitting by and waiting.

The war had come.

Fear gripped her then; sharp and blinding as it lurched in her chest with an ache she felt down to her bones. Her hands flexed, gripping white-knuckled into her nightgown as the babes inside her roiled and kicked anxiously at their mother's pounding heart. Emily pulled the doors wider, stepping forward stubbornly even as the guards pressed forward with their poleaxes crossed before her. She stared them down. "Let me pass."

The Queen's words were quiet; the danger was clear. Even with child, Emily was a force to be reckoned with - tales of how she'd tumbled the excitable stableboy those many months ago still traveled the through the walls of the castle. Denying her orders as Queen was punishable by prison; to do so when the Queen was away from her love was to stare death in the face.

The guard swallowed thickly, feeling the sweat drip slowly along his neck. "A thousand apologies, my Queen. I obey the Lord-King first and foremost."

"And the King obeys his wife, above all else!" she snapped, and the men were desperate then.

To the benefit of the cowering guards, they were spared the wrath of the Queen when a familiar and powerful figure appeared behind them, shoving between their poleaxes to Emily's side. "Belay the orders of the King. I come with orders most recent, and news from the four corners," the new figure thundered; a man dressed in the royal military garb of a knight. His hair flaxen, his eyes brilliant blue, Emily recognized him well.

Gratefully Emily grasped his wrists, staring up hopefully into the man's face. "William, what news do you bring of my husband?" Chevalier William of the South was a brave and noble knight of Aêron's table; fearsome on the battleground and chivalrous when not, he was a welcome face in the masses. He would know where Aêron was, he could tell her what madness was threatening their King from beyond their borders. With hopes, he would take her to him. "Where are my children?"

Where were Arwen and Jack? Were they safe with Penelope and Jennifer, away somewhere in the confines of their play chambers as well? Did Aêron send them away to the safety of the keep in the Northern Breach? Emily's grip tightened on William's wrists and her eyes widened desperately.

"Oh please, William, you _must _tell me something before my sanity drains from me -!"

"Breathe, my Queen, breathe," he soothed her gently, guiding her effortlessly back into the royal chambers. He glanced at the guards; one sharp glare was enough to tell them he expected no one to come through the doors. With the chamber doors shut firmly behind them, William guided Emily to the bed, easing her down onto its edge.

Smiling quietly to her, he knelt to a knee. "I promise you the King is safe, as are your children," he murmured lowly to her, and Emily physically sagged with relief; Sergio rubbing his head against her arm in sympathy as the panther wrapped himself protectively around her. William spared the beast a glance, wondering what sort of damage it could unleash upon a battlefield.

"You spoke of news," Emily prompted him, and so he obliged the Queen Consort. It was cruel to have her worry for much longer.

With a breath, William began. "The Lord-King rides for the Southern Peaks as we speak," he revealed. "Word of George's approach had spread across the kingdom by dawn; His Majesty rode as though the hounds from Hell were at his heels to bring news to the warlords." He shook his head, sighing wearily in his chest. "He was rallying the forces."

Emily's spine grew cold. "The war has come."

William met her gaze grimly. "The war has come." The chevalier rose to his feet, reaching for the Queen's hand as he peered down at her face kindly. "Come, Your Grace - the King has sent me with a purpose." Gently he helped her to her feet, mindful of her stomach. "He intends for you to join his children at the keep in the North."

Reluctantly Emily conceded, and watched restlessly as William ordered for a handmaid to pack her things. The absence of Jennifer and Penelope made her stomach roil, and she gnawed anxiously at her lip as she turned to William for answers. "Are the children with Penelope and Jennifer then?" she asked him, to which the chevalier nodded reassuringly; there was an odd smile on his face.

"You will join them soon, my Queen. I will make sure of it."

* * *

The Lord-King stood high in the battlements of the Eastern Peaks, brooding apprehensively as he watched the swarm of men gather and arm themselves. The cavalry was finding position, setting base and pulling the infantry line forward. His army was far-reaching over his kingdom; there were plenty of men willing and able to call to arms, but still Aêron was listless and irritable. Something was amiss, and he dreaded to think just what it could be.

Loud, purposeful strides sounded behind him, and Aêron glanced behind him to where Rossetti stood dressed for battle, holding the Lord-King's war helmet. "My King." He held out the helmet patiently, waiting as Aêron slowly accepted the proffered armor; watching as the King caressed it thoughtfully, a troubled frown on his handsome face. "You worry, Aêron?"

Aêron pursed his lips. "I always worry," he murmured, stroking the worn metal beneath his fingers. Sighing heavily, he raised his hazel eyes to his trusted Chancellor, no longer attempting to hide his concerns and worries in his gaze. "The twins will come soon; how can I ready myself for battle and stand willing to end my life knowing that I may never witness the birth of my children? How can I lead my men to war when all of my mind is filled with thoughts of the safety of my wife and children?" The Lord-King ran a hand through his short hair, uncaring of its tousled state as Rossetti grasped his wandering hand and instead slid his gauntlet over it.

Rossetti regarded him sternly, glaring hard into the younger man's eyes as he tightened the gauntlet over his arm. "I trust you to lead as you see fit," he said firmly. "You've never failed us before, Aêron, and I don't anticipate you failing us now. George is a prideful bastard with nothing more than rage and ugly hate in his heart. You are beyond his dark Magyck." Releasing Aêron only when the Lord-King nodded his concession, Rossetti nodded gruffly, patting him hard on the shoulder.

"Now rest easy, Aêron. The Queen is already on her way to the keep at the Northern Breach to be with the children."

The Lord-King's frown darkened, his eyes sharply bright. "Why? The children are in the castle, in the tombs beneath the grounds." The tombs would guide them out into the country should the castle be seized. He would never send them away to the corners!

The Chancellor frowned, confused. "William was following your orders, Aêron. You told him to ride to the Breach with Emily - the children are there already with their nanny and Emily's ladies."

Aêron felt bile rise to his throat. "I gave no such orders."

* * *

**Cue overly dramatic music.**


End file.
